Mrs.   Phoebe  A.   Hearst 


W!THDRAV/M 


BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

o- 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES     r 


LITTLE 
PHILOSOPHIES 

BY 

HARRY  HIGGINS 


With   a    foreword   by 
Samuel  Travers  Clover 


Illustrated   by 
RALPH  MOCINE 


GRAPHIC  PUB.  CO. 
Los  Angeles,  Cal. 

1911 


THIS  memorial  edition  is 
limited  to  one  hundred  copies 
and  is  printed  for  private 
distribution. 


IN  MEMORIAM 


E  RAR 


FOREWORD 

When  I  was  invited  by  the  mother  of 
Harry  Higgins  to  examine  the  manuscript 
writings  of  her  talented  son  with  a  view  to 
preparing  them  for  publication  in  pamph- 
let form,  I  had  little  conception  at  the  time 
of  the  genuine  pleasure  that  awaited  me. 
That  the  son  was  unusually  gifted  in  various 
ways  I  had  reason  to  believe,  but  of  his 
literary  propensities  I  knew  nothing.  Con- 
sequently, the  inspection  of  the  bundle  of 
sketches  and  poems,  printed  and  unprinted, 
entrusted  to  me,  was  approached  with  dif- 
fidence, but  a  brief  reading  quickly  dissi- 
pated that  feeling  and  it  was  with  undeni- 
able zest  that  I  continued  what  proved  to 
be  a  delightful  task. 

Keen  observation  and  delicate  humor, 
character  sketching  of  a  subtle  quality,  des- 
criptive powers  of  a  high  order,  fine  imag- 
ery, poetic  feeling,  mingled  with  rare  repres- 
sion, together  with  a  literary  style  that  sur- 
prised while  it  charmed,  were  unfolded  to 
my  view,  impelling  an  admiration  that  was 
spontaneous,  and  arousing  a  regret  that  so 
talented  a  mind  was  allied  with  so  weak  a 
bodily  frame.  That  the  physical  limitations 
of  Harry  Higgins  must  have  been  a  source 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


of  much  inward  grief  to  the  young  man  can- 
not be  doubted,  yet  nowhere  in  his  literary 
work  do  I  find  the  slightest  trace  of  irri- 
tation, of  repining,  of  fretfulness  or  of  pes- 
simism because  of  his  chronic  sickness.  To 
the  contrary,  evidence  of  a  good-natured, 
cheery  spirit  is  apparent  throughout,  even 
his  own  ailments  forming  a  subject  for  jest- 
ing, as  witness  his  fanciful  schedule  of 
the  bodily  discomforts  of  a  hypochondriac, 
which  he  summed  up  in  a  bit  of  verse  en- 
titled "Megrims." 

Never  is  he  found  with  a  plaint  on  his 
pen's  tip.  He  sang  the  gospel  of  cheerful 
living,  of  courage,  of  good  humor,  of  kind- 
ness. That  he  wrote  as  he  lived  may  be 
gathered  from  the  following  incident  told 
me  by  his  surviving  elder  brother,  and  after- 
ward, with  added  detail,  by  his  mother. 
Following  a  long  spell  of  illness  in  which 
the  presence  of  a  trained  nurse  was  con- 
stantly required,  Harry,  one  evening,  after 
a  severe  attack  of  coughing,  burst  a  main 
artery.  Calling  his  nurse  she  quickly  saw 
that  it  was  a  case  demanding  prompt  sur- 
gical attention.  They  chanced  to  be  alone 
in  the  house.  For  a  moment  the  nurse  lost 
her  poise  and  began  to  turn  white  as  she 

vi 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


realized  the  imminent  danger.  Harry,  with 
his  ringers  firmly  gripping  the  artery,  im- 
mediately rallied  her,  remarking  with  a 
smile,  "See  here,  you're  not  going  to  faint 
and  leave  me  alone  in  this  fix,  are  you?"  It 
had  the  desired  effect,  and  recovering  her- 
self quickly  the  nurse  hurriedly  summoned 
the  doctor,  her  patient  bravely  retaining 
his  hold  of  the  artery,  to  relinquish  which 
meant  certain  death.  Courageous  in  all 
things  affecting  himself  and  reflecting  the 
same  spirit  in  his  writings  the  note  of  optim- 
ism is  ever  present. 

How  dearly  he  loved  dumb  animals  may 
be  gathered  by  reading  the  charming  des- 
cription of  his  two  marmoset  pets,  Moody 
and  Sankey,  which  tiny  monkeys  he  brought 
back  with  him  from  the  Barbados  to  cheer 
his  lonely  hours  for  many  a  day  thereafter. 
His  delightfully-told  story  of  Nebuchadnez- 
zar, the  antique  mule  of  erratic  disposition, 
reveals  to  a  nicety  the  whimsical  quirk  of 
his  alert  mind,  together  with  a  keen  appre- 
ciation of  the  vagabondish,  irresponsible 
brute  nature  occasionally  to  be  met.  To  all 
dogs  he  was  friendly  and  one  in  particular 
was  his  constant  companion.  Read  his  story 
of  "Our  Happy  Family"  and  realize  how 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


closely  his  sympathy  lay  with  the  smaller 
creatures  of  the  animal  world. 

But  it  is  in  his  alluring  narrative  of  his 
journey  to  the  West  Indian  islands,  a 
graphic  and  poetic  revelation  of  the  beauties 
of  these  favored  spots  in  the  Caribbean  sea, 
that  Harry's  active  mind  found  its  freest 
scope.  Nothing  of  interest  seems  to  have 
escaped  his  roving,  yet  observant  eye. 
Whether  in  character  drawings,  anecdote- 
telling,  dwelling  on  the  many  moods  of  na- 
ture at  sea  or  on  shore,  bits  of  humorous 
description,  or  swift  changes  to  deep  pathos 
— as  seen  in  his  all  too  brief  story  of  the 
mother's  sacrifice  to  follow  her  leprous  son 
to  a  living  death — his  love  for  humanity  is 
uppermost,  his  unfailing  geniality  of  dispo- 
sition ever  dominant,  his  gentle  humor  con- 
stantly lubricating  the  asperities  of  the  most 
trying  situations. 

For  breezy  naturalness,  combined  with 
splendid  descriptive  powers  and  the  disclos- 
ing of  a  mint  of  information  concerning  the 
subject,  his  capital  article  entitled  "The  Fly- 
ing Fish  Fleet"  is  a  gem  of  well-written 
English,  That  a  youngster  of  his  all  too 
feeble  frame  should  have  dared  essay  the 
discomfort  and  even  peril  of  an  adventure  of 

viii 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


this  nature,  but  proves  the  truth  of  my 
previous  assertion  in  regard  to  Harry's  cour- 
age. He  wanted  to  know  at  first  hand  of 
the  experiences  to  be  gained  in  an  outing 
with  the  fleet  and  he  did  not  hesitate  at  the 
cost.  As  a  result,  for  one  of  the  most 
spirited,  accurate  and  informing  articles  it 
has  been  my  good  fortune  to  come  across  in 
a  wide  circle  of  reading,  I  can  thank  the 
young  author  whose  virile  words  require  so 
little  editing  at  my  hands.  Read  his  artless 
story  of  "How  I  Broke  Up  the  Side  Show" 
and  chuckle,  as  I  have  done,  over  the  un- 
conscious humor  of  the  small  boy  so  deftly 
conveyed  by  the  narrator  of  the  incident. 
As  for  "Biddy  McClane's  Revenge,"  it  is  a 
railroad  classic  that  is  no  less  interesting 
because  it  is  a  leaf  from  true  history.  Biddy 
and  her  pig's  fate  and  the  owner's  unex- 
pected reward,  when  on  revenge  bent,  form 
a  chapter  in  the  annals  of  a  small  town  in 
Central  Illinois,  where  Harry's  family  once 
lived. 

Note  the  delicacy  of  touch  in  the  poem, 
"Her  Reminder."  Just  three  short  stanzas, 
but'  the  result  is  a  perfect  picture.  His 
love  for  the  sea,  for  the  mysteries  of  nature, 
is  graphically  exhibited  in  the  breezy  poem, 

ix 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


redolent  of  the  tang  of  the  salty  air,  bearing 
the  refrain  "When  the  Wind  Blows  Through 
the  Rigging."  Only  one  in  close  attune 
with  the  ocean's  moods  and  tenses  could 
have  given  us  that  marine  etching.  Of  a 
deeper  note  is  his  beautiful  tribute  to  the 
Isle  of  Martinique,  a  tragic  spot  visited  be- 
fore the  volcanic  besom  of  destruction 
swept  St.  Pierre  out  of  existence.  The  final 
stanza,  added  by  the  poet's  mother,  subtly 
suggests  the  source  of  Harry's  literary 
gifts. 

Purposely,  I  have  included  in  this  me- 
morial volume  a  few  examples  of  verse  in 
lighter  vein,  as  denoting  the  playfully 
humorous  bent  of  the  author.  "Our  Fire" 
is  a  worthy  complement  of  Miss  Mitford's 
prose  sketches  of  "Our  Village,"  while  its 
handling  is  not  unmindful  of  Thackeray  in 
a  relaxed  mood.  "The  Hayseed"  is  a  serio- 
comic tragedy  in  miniature.  As  for  the  "Me- 
grims," it  is,  as  I  have  previously  stated, 
a  parody  on  the  poet's  own  ills  of  the  body, 
in  which  he  is  to  be  seen  poking  fun  at  his 
poor  health.  Not  literary  are  these  three 
instances  chosen,  nor  did  their  author  con- 
ceive them  to  be;  they  simply  reflect  a 
phase  of  his  temperament  and  because  of 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


the  human  qualities  they  contain  they  are 
given  space  in  this  collection. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  nearly  all 
the  literary  work  to  be  credited  to  Harry 
Higgins  was  done  when  he  was  between 
twenty  and  twenty-five.  Before  he  was  in 
his  twenties  he  was  addicted  to  scribbling, 
but  nothing  of  a  serious  nature  emanated 
from  his  pen,  or  at  least  survived,  that  I 
have  found.  His  constant  illness  in  the  last 
two  years  of  his  life  of  suffering  forbade 
the  solace  that  he  found  in  writing,  so  that 
a  period  of  six  years  may  be  said  to  have 
constituted  his  literary  activity.  Had  he  been 
endowed  with  a  physique  to  match  his  in- 
tellect the  world  of  belle  lettres  would  cer- 
tainly have  been  richer  for  his  contributions. 
He  was  a  faithful  student  of  French  and 
German  which  languages  he  mastered  on 
his  sick  bed,  until  he  was  able  to  read  and 
speak  them  with  ease  and  fluency.  His 
friend,  the  late  Dr.  H.  W.  Thomas  of  Chi- 
cago, remarked  of  Harry,  that,  while  a  hope- 
less invalid,  his  face  and  features  were  per- 
fect and  strangely  interesting.  "The  growth 
of  the  body,"  wrote  the  noted  divine,  "was 
partially  arrested,  but  this  restrained  energy 
seemed  to  go  to  the  mind;  for  the  whole 

xi 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


mental  life  was  unusually  large  for  a  child, 
and  had  in  early  youth  reached  the  re- 
flective period  that  generally  comes,  if  at 
all,  in  the  later  years.  Not  being  able  to 
take  any  regular  course  of  study,  and  being 
so  intensely  interested  along  the  lines  of 
his  own  thinking,  the  boy  Harry,  was  per- 
mitted largely  to  find  and  have  his  own 
way  in  his  own  world  and  life. 

"It  was  in  these  years  of  opening  child- 
hood and  youth,"  continues  the  doctor,  "that 
I  knew  Harry  so  well  and  loved  him — not 
alone  the  love  of  sympathy  because  of 
his  afflictions;  but  the  love  of  a  nature  so 
tender  and  beautiful  and  of  a  life  so  young 
out  of  the  world  of  thought  and  principles. 
His  mind  then  went  to  the  fields  of  philoso- 
phy and  literature ;  or  rather,  was  philosoph- 
ic and  literary  in  its  tastes  and  methods ; 
for  he  had  not  created  a  field  by  reading 
the  thoughts  of  others,  but  was  trying  to 
find  his  own  way,  and  when  he  reached  the 
years  of  early  manhood  he  was  quite  a 
young  philosopher.  He  was,  with  all  his 
sufferings,  the  most  cheerful  member  of 
the  family,  and  o/ten  said  to  his  mother, 
'You  must  not  fear  death;  it  brings  its  own 
anaesthetic."  I  remember  once  when  he  was 

xii 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


very  sick  and  seemed  near  the  last,  he  ask- 
ed me  if  I  thought  it  was  necessary  to  be 
baptised.  The  question  was  direct,  and  with 
such  a  mind,  called  for  more  than  the  'yes' 
or  'no'  of  the  religion  of  authority:  it  must 
appeal  to  the  understanding,  and  I  said: 
'With  the  Catholic  church,  baptism  is  es- 
sential, but  the  Christ  did  not  baptise  any, 
and  Paul  thanked  the  Lord  that  he  had  bap- 
tised but  few.  Religion  is  more  than  an 
outer  form;  it  is  an  inner  state  of  being.' 
He  thought  a  few  minutes  and  said  'I  am 
satisfied.'  Having  reached  the  reality  he 
was  at  rest. 

"At  another  time,  after  a  long  talk,  going 
out,  I  said  to  his  mother,  'Your  son  has 
lived  more  than  fifty  years  in  less  than 
half  that  time.'  This  beautiful  life,  so 
strangely  limited  by  its  near  environments, 
found  its  way  out  into  the  larger  world  of 
helping  others  in  the  struggle  and  battle 
for  existence  and  success.  His  charities 
were  many  and  liberal;  it  was  part  of  his 
own  suffering  life  to  help  others." 

I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  add  this  tribute 
from  one  who  knew  Harry  so  well.  It  was 
fitting  that  from  so  sympathetic  a  teacher 
should  have  come  the  final  words  that  were 

xiii 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


uttered  over  Harry's  mute  form.  Of  the 
efforts  of  his  father,  since  deceased,  to  ac- 
quaint the  good  doctor  of  the  flight  of  Har- 
ry's spirit,  reference  to  the  newspaper  ac- 
count contained  in  the  appendix  to  this  lit- 
tle volume,  will  tell.  Dr.  Thomas  has  allud- 
ed to  the  philosophical  bent  of  Harry's 
mind.  It  was  not  a  profound  philosophy  that 
he  embraced,  but  rather  a  human  philoso- 
phy, touching  on  the  less  complex  phases  of 
existence,  and  because  of  this  trend  I  have 
concluded,  with  his  mother's  acquiescence, 
to  christen  these  modest  but  attractive  chil- 
dren of  Harry's  fertile  brain,  "Little  Philo- 
sophies," and  to  all  lovers  of  the  humanities, 
and  especially  to  those  who  were  privileged 
to  know  the  gifted  author,  I  commend  these 
charming  prose  sketches,  and  all  too  few 
poetic  gems,  knowing  they  will  be  as  great- 
ly edified,  as  I  have  been,  by  the  reading. 

S.  T.  C. 
Los  Angeles,  April,  1911. 


CONTENTS 

Foreword 

Bound  for  the  Barbados  -. 

When  the  Wind  Blows  Through  the  Rigging 

The  Flying  Fish  Fleet 

Isle   of  Martinique 

Moody  and  Sankey:  Two  Marmosets 

The  Reminder 

Our  Happy  Family 

How  I  Broke  Up  a  Sideshow   .... 

Nebuchadnezzar 

Biddy  McClane's  Revenge  . 
Plot  for  a  Story:  A  Fragment  . 
In  Lighter  Vein: 

Megrims 

The  Hayseed 

Our   Fire 

Appendix 


Hound  fir  the  Barbados 


WE  are  bound  for  Barbados,  to  the  land 
of  perpetual  summer,  but  there  is 
nothing  suggestive  of  summer  in  our  pres- 
ent surroundings.  We  hurry  up  the  ice  cov- 
ered gang-plank  to  the  steamer's  side  eager 
to  gain  the  warm  shelter  of  the  cabin.  The 
few  passengers  on  board  who  have  friends 
on  the  wharf  to  bid  them  bon  voyage  ener- 
getically brave  the  icy  wind  which  sweeps 
across  the  steamer's  bow  and  stamp  their 
feet  and  wave  their  arms  in  a  vain  endeavor 
to  keep  warm  and  appear  cheerful,  while 
their  friends  on  the  wharf  shiver  and  shake 
and  inwardly  mutter  maledictions  at  the 
tardy  departure  of  the  vessel.  At  last  the 
captain  hurries  up  the  gang-plank,  the  bell 
rings  sharply  out  from  the  depths  of  the 
engine  room,  the  screw  beginning  to  revolve 
sends  masses  of  broken  ice  swirling  to- 
ward the  rear  and  the  huge  steamer,  gath- 
ering momentum,  plows  her  way  through 
the  drift  and  slush  of  New  York  harbor. 

17 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


The  first  duty  of  a  voyageur  is  to  become 
acquainted  with  everyone  else,  for  there  is 
nothing  which  so  adds  to  the  comfort  of  a 
voyage  as  the  joining  of  the  whole  ship's 
company  into  one  huge  social  family,  dwell- 
ing under  their  own  roof  tree,  as  it  were. 
Filled  with  this  benevolent  intention,  Mr. 
A.  and  myself  betook  ourselves  to  the  inte- 
rior of  the  cabin,  but,  alas  for  our  hopes! 
everyone  was  sitting  around,  looking  as 
solemn  as  an  owl;  feeling  a  little  homesick, 
perhaps,  or  more  likely  troubled  with  fore- 
bodings of  sea-sickness.  The  gentle  swell 
of  the  Atlantic  was  already  perceptible  and 
several  countenances  were  beginning  to 
assume  an  uncomfortable  expression.  The 
leader  of  our  party  was  cross  and  crabbed — 
he  complained  of  the  cold.  I  tried  to  cheer 
him  up  by  saying  we  would  soon  be  in  a 
warmer  climate,  where  he  could  wear  his 
linen  tennis  suit  and  duster.  He  said  aft- 
erward that  this  remark  of  mine  threw  him 
into  a  congestive  chill,  but  I  attributed  it 
to  mal  de  mer.  We  assisted  him  to  his 
stateroom  and  returned  feeling  much  de- 
pressed. 

This  was  a  most  dismal  commencement 
of  the  voyage  and,  our  spirits  beginning  to 

18 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


sink,  we  put  on  our  coats,  defied  the  wind 
and  sallied  forth  to  the  bow  to  be  rid  of 
our  melancholy  comrades.  The  view  of  a 
great  steamer  from  this  point  is  very  at- 
tractive— her  lines  sweep  toward  the  rear 
in  graceful  perspective — the  huge  bulk  rises 
and  falls  as  each  succeeding  wave  breaks 
into  foam  under  the  bow — the  tapering  spars 
dip  first  on  one  side  and  then  on  the  other 
until  every  timber  groans  and  creaks  un- 
der the  enormous  tension.  On  the  bridge 
running  across  the  forward  part  of  the  ves- 
sel eight  feet  above  the  deck,  stand  two  men 
who  keep  a  sharp  lookout  for  derelicts  (as 
floating  wrecks  are  called)  and  other  ves- 
sels. Below,  in  the  pilot  house,  are  the  two 
wheelmen  whose  sole  duty  it  is  to  keep 
the  vessel  on  her  course  by  the  true,  uner- 
ring needle  of  the  compass.  Still  farther 
back  towers  the  huge  stack  through  which 
rolls  the  smoke  of  three  hundred  tons  of 
coal  a  day.  Up  from  the  hold  below  come 
the  rattle  and  clang  of  the  furnace  doors  as 
the  firemen  shovel  in  the  stimulus  which 
propels  the  vessel.  A  hot  place  is  the  stoke- 
hole— the  dull  red  of  the  fires  is  reflected 
from  the  blackened,  perspiring  faces  of  the 
stokers.  Once  in  a  while  a  poor  fellow  faints 

19 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


from  the  heat  and  is  dragged  out  to  get  a 
breath  of  fresh  air.  A  rough  and  hard  life 
is  the  stokers',  and  of  sailors  generally; 
working  and  toiling  during  an  entire  voy- 
age, they  squander  their  wages  in  a  single 
night  ashore  and  are  forced  to  return  to 
their  ship  in  the  morning  to  keep  from  starv- 
ing. 

The  engine  room  is  farther  back  and 
through  the  inside  cabin  windows  one  may 
catch  a  glimpse  of  turning  shafts  and  flying 
bars,  of  engineers  and  oilmen  whose  duty  it 
is  to  watch  this  mammoth  but  delicate  piece 
of  mechanism.  Day  in  and  and  day  out, 
for  weeks  at  a  time,  the  huge  screw  cease- 
lessly revolves  and  its  dull  thud  is  the  first 
sound  one  hears  on  waking,  and  the  mo- 
notonous lullaby  of  one's  rest  at  night.  The 
quartermaster  is  around  at  all  times  of  the 
day  and  night  with  his  crew  of  men,  trim- 
ming the  sails  as  the  wind  shifts  and  exam- 
ining every  rope  and  spar.  Rows  of  huge 
pipes  fitted  with  funnel-shaped  mouths,  sup- 
ply the  ship  with  good  fresh  air,  while 
shrouds  and  rigging  rise  above  the  whole  in 
an  intricate  network.  In  case  of  fire  or 
other  accidents  the  entire  crew  works  like 
an  automaton;  each  man  has  a  certain  duty 

20 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


to  perform  and  knows  just  how  to  do  it; 
in  fact,  "order  and  obedience"  is  the  sail- 
or's motto,  and  nowhere  is  it  lived  up  to 
so  strictly  as  on  board  an  ocean  greyhound. 

As  we  stood  on  the  bow  I  remarked  to 
A.  that  it  was  very  exhilarating  to  go  bound- 
ing upon  the  crest  of  a  wave  and  as  the  ves- 
sel sank  into  the  trough  to  be  left  standing 
almost  in  mid-air.  A.  said  it  was  a  little 
too  much  so  for  him  and  that  he  believed  he 
would  retire  to  the  seclusion  of  his  state- 
room to  cast  up  his  accounts,  or  something, 
I  could  not  catch  just  what.  I  judged  from 
the  far  away  look  in  his  eye  that  if  a  bal- 
ance was  struck  old  Neptune  would  be 
credited  with  it. 

I  like  a  candid  man,  one  who  will  truth- 
fully say  when  he  gets  sick : 

I  hate  your  hoary  face,  gruff  sea; 

'Twere  vile  hypocrisy  in  me 

To  say  I  loved  thee,  if  I  do 

May  I  be  d rowned  in  the  deep  blue. 

I  did  not  see  A.  again  for  two  days  and  a 
half  and  then  I  could  truthfully  ask  with 
Shakespeare,  "Be  thou  the  spirit  of  health 
or  goblin  damned,  where  is  thy  substance?" 

That  evening  at  dinner  I  became  acquaint- 
ed with  several  fellow  passengers  who 

21 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


seemed  very  pleasant,  in  fact  it  has  never 
been  my  good  fortune  to  meet  with  a  more 
agreeable  company  of  people  than  was  on 
board  the  Alliance.  In  any  considerable 
number  of  people  one  always  finds  certain 
types  of  humanity — for  instance,  there  is  al- 
ways a  fat  man  and  a  lean  man,  the  tall  man 
and  the  short  man,  and  very  rarely  the 
chuckling  man.  By  a  chuckling  man  I  mean 
an  individual  built  on  the  Abraham  Lincoln 
plain,  tall,  gaunt  and  loose  jointed;  a  man 
who  begins  to  laugh  in  the  center  of  his 
stomach  and  as  the  various  parts  and  or- 
gans catch  the  infection,  quivers  and  shakes 
until  his  whole  anatomy  is  in  a  perfect  con- 
vulsion of  merriment.  Such  an  individual 
was  well  represented  on  board  in  the  per- 
son of  a  traveler  named  Fairwater.  Mr. 
Fairwater  was  the  possessor  of  another  ac- 
complishment which  gave  me  uneasiness- 
he  could  eat  with  his  knife  in  a  most  re- 
markable and  dexterous  manner;  not  with 
a  dull,  nickleplated  American  knife,  but  an 
English  steel  knife,  sharpened  every  day  to 
an  edge  warranted  to  cut  the  toughest  beef- 
steak in  existence.  He  could  balance  a  piece 
of  vegetable  on  the  end  of  this  instrument 
and  with  the  utmost  celerity  and  precision 

22 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


deposit  it  at  the  base  of  his  tongue.  At  first 
this  performance  caused  me  some  appre- 
hension, but  at  length  I  became  possessed  of 
a  morbid  desire  (like  Mark  Twain  on  the 
pyramid  of  Cheops)  that  Fairwater  -would 
do  himself  harm. 

Seated  directly  opposite  me  was  Major 
Sellers.  Born  an  American,  the  major  had 
early  emigrated  to  the  Brazilian  states, 
where  he  had  undergone  hardships  and  pri- 
vations enough  to  supply  six  ordinary  men. 
Being  a  bluff,  good-natured,  jolly  old  fel- 
low his  company  was  very  agreeable  and  he 
was  generally  the  center  of  a  merry  group. 

On  the  major's  right  sat  Miss  Gush — 
everyone  knows  Miss  Gush.  Miss  Gush  is 
the  ethereal  person  who  writes  poetry  by 
moonlight,  does  her  curls  up  in  papers  by 
lamplight,  and  sleeps  mostly  during  the  light 
of  day.  A  person  who  thinks  everything  is 
most  terribly  terrible,  awfully  awful  or 
grandly  grand.  I  have  always  noticed  that 
extremists  of  this  type  who  pretend  to  be 
above  all  things  worldly  and  whose  artistic 
souls  must  be  satisfied  by  huge  draughts  of 
nature,  pay  especial  attention  to  the  neces- 
sities of  life,  particularly  their  appetites.  The 
remainder  of  the  table  was  occupied  by  the 

23 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


captain  and  purser,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  of 
St.  Louis,  our  party  from  New  York,  a 
Frenchman  who  spoke  very  little  English, 
three  Spaniards  who  did  nothing  but  abuse 
their  valets,  a  beardless  youth  seeking  his 
fortune  in  South  America,  and  a  dyspeptic 
looking  Yankee  from  Connecticut.  The  lat- 
ter was  in  the  baking  powder  business, 
which  perhaps  accounted  for  his  bilious 
appearance.  I  shall  always  remember  this 
person  as  one  of  an  army  of  cranks  who  are 
haunted  by  the  microbe  theory.  He  drank 
boiled  water,  carried  a  small  filter  with  him, 
insisted  on  putting  chloride  of  lime  into 
every  washstand,  advocated  the  use  of  wo- 
ven-wire  pillows  and  gave  lectures  on  dif- 
ferent species  of  bacilli,  from  bacteria  to 
trichinae  until  the  whole  ship's  company 
avoided  him  as  a  pestilence. 
.  ."Yes,"  said  the  major  to  the  beardless 
youth  as  he  helped  himself  to  the  butter, 
"take  the  advice  of  an  old  battle-scarred 
veteran  and  go  back  on  the  first  boat — why, 
young  man,  yellow  fever  will  welcome  you 
on  the  wharf  at  Santos,  smallpox  lurks  be- 
hind every  street  corner,  while  the  air  is 
full  of  malaria  and  typhoid." 

Here  the  Connecticut  man  shuddered. 

24 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 

"If  you  persist,"  continued  the  major, 
"your  folks  will  receive  a  box  of  clothing 
about  next  May,  and  poor  Charley  will  be 
only  a  tender  memory." 

"Beg  pardon,"  interrupted  Miss  Gush, 
"but  do  you  think,  really  and  truly,  we  shall 
have  a  storm  tonight,  Mr.  Fairwater?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Fairwater,  deftly  deposit- 
ing a  piece  of  cheese  at  the  back  of  his 
mouth,  "I  think  we  shall ;  you  see  we  shall 
soon  be  midway  between  Cape  Hatteras  and 
Bermuda,  the  stormiest  spot  on  the  Atlan- 
tic ocean,  and  when  the  warm,  moist  air 
of  the  gulf  stream  meets  that  of  the  cold 
Labrador  current  there  is  likely  to  be  trou- 
ble in  Uncle  Neptune's  realm." 

"This  is  one  of  the  deepest  parts  of  the 
Atlantic,"  remarked  one  of  our  party,  "and 
the  waves  sometimes  attain  an  enormous 
size.  I  made  one  voyage  when  the  seas  car- 
ried away  the  lifeboats,  smashed  the  railings 
and  skylight,  ripped  off  the  copper  sheath- 
ing, flooded  the  cabins  and  buffeted  the  ves- 
sel so  badly  that  it  became  necessary  to 
throw  overboard  two  thousand  dollars' 
worth  of  lime  juice  and  a  quantity  of  fish  oil 
to  relieve  the  strain." 

25 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


How  grand  is  Nature  in  her  sterner  moments, 
How  terrible  when  rousted  to  fury, 
Perceive  those  billows  fit  exponents, 
Of  power  so  potent  and  enduring. 

recited  Miss  Gush. 

"Did  Mademoiselle  zat  beauteous  poetry 
compose?"  gallantly  inquired  Jacques  Bon- 
homme. 

Miss  Gush  cast  down  her  eyes  and  sim- 
pered, from  which  we  concluded  that  she 
meant  yes. 

"I  know  I  shall  be  nearly  dead  with  sea- 
sickness," said  Mrs.  Brown. 

"That's  the  way  with  you  ladies,"  laughed 
the  captain,  "you  are  afraid  of  dying  before 
you  get  sick,  and  are  afraid  you  won't  die 
after  you  do  get  sick." 

We  all  laughed  except  Fairwater,  who 
first  trembled,  then  quivered,  and  finally 
shook  until  the  very  dishes  rattled  on  the 
table. 

I  have  often  timed  Fairwater,  and  I  find 
that  it  generally  takes  from  a  minute  to  a 
minute  and  a  half  for  him  to  get  under  good 
headway. 

When  we  rose  from  the  table  the  wind 
was  blowing  from  a  gale  southwest  and  the 
vessel  was  beginning  to  plunge  in  a  man- 

26 


LITTLE    PHILOSOPHIES 


ner  quite  alarming  to  the  timorous  ones.  A 
storm  at  sea  is  both  an  interesting  and 
grand  experience  to  undergo.  Who  has 
not  felt  a  thrill  of  excitement  while  reading 
the  vivid  descriptions  of  a  storm  in  the 
pages  of  Marryat  and  Cooper?  Who  has 
not  seen  the  men  aloft  on  the  trucks  or  shud- 
dered at  the  dangerous  footing  of  the  reef- 
ers? One  can  almost  hear  the  hoarse  bawl- 
ings  of  the  mate  and  the  hiss  of  rushing  wa- 
ters, the  creaking  of  timbers  and  the  whis- 
tling of  the  wind  through  the  shrouds  and 
rigging.  It  seems  as  if  one  were  standing 
with  the  captain  at  the  wheel  and  watching 
the  monstrous  billows  as  they  boarded  the 
vessel  and  swept  in  a  foamy  torrent  over 
the  deck.  While  such  geniuses  as  Victor 
Hugo,  Marryat,  Cooper  and  Russell  can 
portray  nature  so  well,  nature  herself  is 
far  more  sublime  and  awe-inspiring,  and  one 
must  actually  witness  such  a  combat  of  the 
elements  before  appreciating  the  grandeur 
of  the  scene.  But  there  is  always  a  large 
majority  of  the  ship's  passengers  who  are 
not  in  fit  condition  to  be  awe-inspired  by 
anything.  It  is  essential  that  a  person  be 
proof  against  seasickness  in  order  to  glow 
with  the  fire  of  enthusiasm. 

27 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


When  one  finds  a  beautiful  spot  in  the 
mountains  or  by  the  sea  and  the  chords  of 
wonder  and  admiration  vibrate  at  the  touch 
of  nature  it  makes  one  feel  disgusted  to 
look  up  and  see  "Take  Dr.  Barter's  Little 
Liver  Pills  Before  Breakfast."  It  is  exact- 
ly that  way  with  seasickness ;  it  takes  away 
all  the  poetry  of  your  being. 

Two  hours  after  dinner,  when  the  last 
seasick  wretch  had  sought  his  bunk,  I  was 
fast  asleep  in  my  berth,  dreaming  of  the 
land  of  flowers  and  sunshine,  of  cocoanut 
groves  and  banana  orchards  when  crash! 
bang !  smash !  came  a  noise  to  my  ears  like 
the  result  of  an  earthquake  in  a  crockery 
store,  piercing  shrieks  arose  from  the  wom- 
en, visions  in  white  flitted  past  my  door; 
all  was  confusion. 

Mr.  Brown,  in  an  abbreviated  costume, 
hurried  down  to  investigate  matters.  He 
found  that,  owing  to  the  terrible  plunging 
of  the  vessel,  the  huge  ice  chest,  which  was 
filled  with  apollinaris  water  and  other  wa- 
ters not  quite  so  innocent,  had  broken  loose 
from  its  moorings  and  was  careening  around 
the  saloon  in  a  truly  hilarious  manner  as  if 
it  felt  the  influence  of  the  aforementioned 
liquids  on  its  interior.  It  was  finally  cap- 

28 


LITTLE    PHILOSOPHIES 


tured  and  fastened  securely  and  we  all  went 
to  bed  again,  but  not  for  long;  fate  was 
against  us,  for  suddenly  another  crash  was 
heard,  once  more  the  shrieks  rang  out  and 
once  more  Mr.  Brown  investigated.  This 
time  it  was  the  marble  center  table  which 
had  broken  from  its  moorings  and  it  was 
rolling  around  the  room,  accompanied  by 
the  piano  and  several  chairs.  To  cap  the 
climax  the  wind  suddenly  shifted  and  the 
salt  spray  began  to  leak  through  into  every 
stateroom  on  the  windward  side  of  the  ves- 
sel. There  was  soon  an  inch  of  water 
washing  to  and  fro  on  the  floor  and  trunks 
and  clothing  had  to  be  hastily  placed  in  the 
berths  while  the  occupants  thereof  sat  up 
and  watched  the  night  change  slowly  into 
day.  During  the  storm  the  jib  and  top- 
mast were  swept  away  and  every  thing 
portable  swept  from  the  deck.  The  gale  con- 
tinued with  unabated  fury  all  of  the  follow- 
ing day,  when  it  ceased.  We  retired  that 
evening  with  the  comforting  assurance  that 
our  troubles  were  over,  and  that,  hence- 
forth, we  would  sail  on  a  calm  and  peace- 
ful sea. 

To  wake  up  and  find  a  warm,  sunny  day, 
to    see    the    crew    putting    up    awnings    as 

29 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


if  for  a  Fourth  of  July  excursion,  to  open 
your  window  and  feel  the  balmy  breath  of 
a  summer's  day  fan  your  cheek,  to  don  light 
clothing  and  linen  trousers,  is  a  great  change 
from  a  damp,  chilly  atmosphere  and  winter 
garments  twelve  hours  before.  Yet  we  had 
traveled  from  winter  to  summer  in  half  a 
day,  from  the  climate  of  January  to  that  of 
June ;  we  had  exchanged  the  frigid  air  of  the 
Labrador  current  for  the  moisture  laden  at- 
mosphere of  the  gulf  stream  and  were  now 
plowing  our  way  through  a  part  of  the  ocean 
unrivalled  for  its  beauty  the  world  over. 
The  gulf  stream,  that  mighty  ocean  stream, 
equal  in  bulk  to  three  thousand  Mississippi 
rivers,  flowing  winter  and  summer  uninter- 
rupted, on  its  course  from  the  Straits  of 
Florida  to  Spitzenbergen  and  carrying  with 
it  the  tropical  heat  which  gives  to  England 
and  Iceland  their  temperate  climate. 

Bermuda  lies  just  south  of  this  "steam 
pipe  of  the  ocean,"  as  Lieutenant  Maury 
calls  it,  and  to  this  position  is  due  its  sa- 
lubrious climate. 

One  by  one  the  passengers  appeared  on 
deck,  wan  and  haggard,  but  jubilant  and 
happy,  execrating  the  storm,  but  rejoicing 
in  the  change  and  capable  of  eating  a  good 

30 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


breakfast,  something  hitherto  quite  impos- 
sible. Mr.  Fairwater  put  in  an  appearance, 
or  rather  the  shadow  of  one.  Mr.  A.  came 
on  deck  looking  like  Banquo's  ghost.  Miss 
Gush  was  there  with  an  emaciated  smile. 
Mr.  Brown  reported  himself  a  little  dis- 
abled but  still  in  the  ring,  while  it  actually 
seemed  good  to  hear  Mr.  Alum  discussing 
yellow  fever  microbes  with  the  captain. 
We  were  a  jolly  crowd  as  we  descended  to 
breakfast  and  Major  Sellers  got  to  telling 
about  a  friend  of  his  who  went  to  sea  and 
became  so  sick  that  he  offered  the  captain 
a  thousand  dollars  to  put  him  ashore.  "Can't 
do  it,  sir,"  said  the  captain,  whereupon  the 
man  went  away  again,  but  soon  returned 
and  offered  two  thousand  dollars.  This  of- 
fer was  also  refused  and  he  went  away 
again,  but  returned  in  an  hour  and  said, 
"Captain,  here  is  three  thousand  dollars,  it's 
every  cent  I've  got  in  the  world,  now  take 
it  and  please  throw  me  overboard."  This 
story  so  tickled  the  table  steward  that  he 
capsized  a  bowl  of  mutton  broth  down 
Fairwater's  back  just  as  the  latter  was 
bursting  into  merriment  which,  of  course, 
checked  his  hilarity  to  an  extent. 

Just   then    the    purser    stuck    his    head 

31 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


through  the  skylight  and  cried,  "There  she 
blows !  whales !  there  she  blows  on  the  star- 
board side." 

Of  course,  everyone  made  a  wild,  undigni- 
fied rush  for  the  deck  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  the  great  cetaceans.  Yes,  there  they  were, 
three  huge  fellows  of  the  green  variety, 
spouting  and  blowing  in  the  easy  swell,  not 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  At  intervals  jets 
of  spray  were  forced  from  their  blow-holes 
into  the  air,  rising  to  a  distance  of  twenty 
feet  or  more  and  falling  in  a  silvery  shower 
on  their  broad,  shining  backs.  Upon  a  near- 
er approach  they  took  alarm  and  throwing 
their  gigantic  tails  into  the  air  went  to  the 
bottom  to  be  seen  no  more. 

The  beardless  youth  asked  the  captain 
if  he  had  ever  seen  a  whale's  egg.  The  cap- 
tain said  yes  that  he  had  run  into  a  whole 
nestful  off  the  island  of  Antigua  and  had 
to  put  on  all  steam  to  escape  the  angry 
mother,  who  chased  him  for  three  hours. 

Major  Sellers  said  that  reminded  him  of 
the  little  Sunday  school  boy  who  asked  his 
teacher  if  Jonah's  whale  was  fitted  up 
inside  with  upper  and  lower  berths  and  if  it 
had  a  buffet  and  a  porter. 

After   breakfast   Mr.     Brown    announced 

32 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


that  he  was  going  to  fish  for  gulls  from  the 
steamer's  stern.  The  large  gray  gulls  which 
had  followed  us  continuously  from  New 
York,  had  suddenly  disappeared  and  their 
places  were  taken  by  a  new  variety  of  a 
beautiful  black  and  white  color.  There  are 
two  ways  of  catching  seagulls,  one  by  the 
ordinary  hook  and  line,  the  other  by  means 
of  a  line,  to  the  end  of  which  are  fastened 
a  number  of  strong  silk  threads,  in  which 
the  bird  becomes  entangled  and  is  drawn  on 
board.  Mr.  Brown  caught  two  gulls  and  a 
Mother  Carey's  chicken,  but  soon  gave  them 
their  liberty  again. 

Sailors  are  very  superstitious  about  the 
Mother  Carey's  chickens  or  stormy  petrel 
and  believe  their  presence  foretells  a  storm. 
They  will  not  permit  them  to  be  harmed  if 
they  can  possibly  prevent  it,  believing  that 
to  kill  one  brings  bad  luck  to  all  on  board. 
The  natural  history  of  this  curious  little 
bird  is  very  meager,  for  its  nest  is  never 
found  and  it  is  never  seen  on  shore,  neither 
is  it  ever  seen  alight  on  the  water,  al- 
though it  is  constantly  darting  from  wave 
to  wave,  wheeling  and  turning  like  a  swal- 
low, which  it  much  resembles.  Sailors  gen- 
erally believe  that  it  deposits  its  eggs  on 

33 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


the  floating  gulfweed  and  when  the  young 
chicks  hatch  out,  takes  them  away  on  its 
back  and  flies  away,  hence  its  name,  "moth- 
er carries  chickens." 

Life  on  board  the  Alliance  now  became 
a  succession  of  enjoyable  days;  everyone 
developed  such  a  prodigious  appetite  that 
the  steward  was  forced  to  introduce  an  ex- 
tra meal  just  before  bedtime.  The  men  folk 
usually  collected  under  the  awnings  and 
talked  and  smoked  the  hours  away,  while 
the  women  occasionally  joined  them  in  a 
game  of  quoits  or  assisted  in  an  impromptu 
concert. 

Early  every  morning,  just  as  old  Sol  was 
rising  from  his  watery  bed  in  the  east, 
the  men  donned  their  pajamas  and  hastened 
to  the  bow,  where  they  enjoyed  the  novel 
sensation  of  having  a  stream  of  salt  water 
played  on  their  bodies  from  the  ship's  hose. 
Sometimes  a  tarpaulin  was  caught  up  by  the 
four  corners,  filled  with  water  and  used  as 
a  natatorium  by  the  aquatic  members  of  our 
company.  Just  think,  my  icebound  northern 
readers,  of  these  men  disporting  themselves 
in  the  water,  puffing  and  blowing  like  a 
school  of  porpoises,  with  the  blue  sky  above 
them  and  the  bluer  water  beneath;  if  such 

34 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


a  picture  does  not  create  in  your  heart  a  de- 
sire for  similar  pleasures  then  your  sensibil- 
ities are  blunted  and  your  imagination  dead. 

Sleeping  on  deck  is  another  novel  luxury 
equally  appreciated  by  the  invalid  and  the 
robust. 

When  the  quietness  of  the  night  settles 
upon  the  steamer,  and  only  the  monotonous 
throbbing  and  beating  of  the  engines  is 
heard,  one  may  comfortably  recline  in  a 
steamer  chair  and  watch  the  stars  as  they 
rise  and  dip  to  the  vessel's  motion,  the  tow- 
ering masts  and  network  of  rigging  as  they 
majestically  wave  to  and  fro,  sharply  out- 
lined against  the  starlit  background.  One 
notes  the  fleecy  clouds  crossing  the  moon's 
bright  surface  and  the  imagination  is  filled 
with  pleasant  thoughts  and  fancies.  The 
tired  senses  are  lulled  to  rest  and  the  voy- 
ager sleeps  "rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the 
deep,"  in  fact  as  well  as  in  fancy. 

But  imagine,  my  friend,  that  you  have 
slept  in  this  delightful  manner,  enjoyed  your 
early  morning  dip  in  the  tarpaulin,  eaten 
an  appetizing  breakfast  and  stand  ready  to 
follow  whithersoever  I  shall  lead  you.  Come 
with  me  to  the  vessel's  bow;  let  us  look 
down  into  the  deep,  blue  water  and  I  will 

35 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


show  you  one  of  the  prettiest  little  creatures 
in  nature's  vast  aquarium.  I  mean  the  fly- 
ing-fish. See  them  as  they  rise  from  the 
water  in  a  silvery  shower  as  the  vessel  ap- 
proaches; one,  two,  a  dozen,  a  thousand 
leaping  from  wave  to  wave;  like  flashes  of 
light  they  go,  their  trembling  wings  glitter- 
ing in  the  sunshine,  more  like  gilded  hum- 
ming birds  they  seem  than  creatures  of  the 
finny  tribe.  Their  flight  is  from  twenty  to 
a  thousand  feet  in  length,  and  they  seldom 
rise  higher  than  thirty  feet  into  the  air. 

The  pretty  little  flying-fish  leads  a  sorry 
life;  he  seems  to  be  the  natural  prey  of 
everything.  Pursued  by  sharks  and  dolphins 
in  his  watery  home,  he  soars  into  the  air, 
only  to  fall  a  victim  to  the  hungry  gull.  But 
let  us  look  more  closely  and  we  shall  per- 
ceive, scarcely  twenty  feet  in  advance  of 
the  vessel,  one  of  those  enemies  of  the  fly- 
ing-fish, the  dolphin.  Watch  him  as  his 
lithe  body  cleaves  the  water  with  hardly  a 
perceptible  motion  of  the  tail ;  straight  on 
he  goes,  never  varying  from  his  course.  Re- 
turn here  in  an  hour  or  even  a  day  and  you 
will  find  him  in  the  same  position  as  be- 
fore. Sometimes  he  darts  away  after  a  fish 
with  the  rapidity  of  lightning,  only  to  re- 

36 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 

turn  with  equal  rapidity  and  resume  his 
former  place.  As  the  shark  is  called  the  bull- 
dog of  the  sea,  so  can  the  dolphin  be  char- 
acterized as  its  hound.  Lithe  and  active  in 
all  his  movements,  he  seems  the  personifi- 
cation of  grace  and  power. 

The  Alliance  is  now  plowing  her  way 
through  vast  areas  of  yellow  gulf  weed,  for 
we  have  reached  the  extreme  edge  of  the 
stagnant  pond  of  ocean  called  the  "Sargasso 
Sea."  The  beautiful  yellow  of  the  weed  cre- 
ates a  marked  contrast  to  the  indigo  blue  of 
the  water,  but  although  the  difference  in 
colors  is  so  sharply  drawn  yet  they  harmon- 
ize most  perfectly.  Nature,  no  matter  how 
lavish  and  varied  in  her  coloring,  ever 
dresses  with  exquisite  taste.  These  patches 
of  weed  are  the  homes  of  countless  numbers 
of  cuttle  fish,  zoophytes,  mollusks,  etc.,  while 
little  crabs  can  be  seen  darting  in  all  direc- 
tions as  the  vessel  approaches. 

But  let  us  join  our  fellow-voyagers  and 
with  them  enjoy  the  unrivalled  beauty  of 
this  our  last  day  on  the  open  ocean,  for  in 
a  few  hours  we  shall  discern  the  blue  cliffs 
of  St.  Thomas,  rising  from  the  Caribbean 
sea,  and  thereafter  our  course  lies  between 
rocky  headlands  and  cane-covered  hills  of 
the  Caribbee  group  of  islands. 
37 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


We  find  Major  Sellers  on  the  hurricane 
deck,  surrounded  as  usual  by  an  animated 
group  who  are  laughing  and  talking  about 
nothing  in  particular. 

"I  wonder  if  monkeys  are  for  sale  in  St. 
Thomas,"  said  Fairwater,  "because  if  they 
are  I  want  to  get  one  for  my  little  nephew." 

"Monkey!"  ejaculated  Brown,  "I  believe 
I'll  buy  one,  too." 

"I  see  you  are  all  coming  down  with  the 
monkey  fever,"  laughed  the  major,  "and  I 
want  to  warn  you  before  the  disease  gets 
thoroughly  into  the  system,  to  let  monkeys 
alone." 

"Why?"  asked  the  bilious  looking  man 
from  Connecticut. 

"Well,  I'll  relate  my  experience,"  an- 
swered the  major,  "and  then  you  can  always 
judge  for  yourselves." 

"Proceed,"  said  Brown,  "we  are  all  at- 
tention." 

"Several  years  ago,  "began  the  major, 
"when  I  was  younger  and  had  less  experi- 
ence, I  was  making  a  voyage  through  the 
islands  on  the  steamer  Caribbee.  I  became 
acquainted  with  several  very  pleasant  gen- 
tlemen, who,  like  myself,  were  bound  for 

38 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


New  York,  and  we  all  anticipated  an  agree- 
able voyage.  In  an  evil  hour  the  ship  land- 
ed at  St.  Kitt's,  where  monkeys  are  as  plenti- 
ful as  grasshoppers  were  in  Kansas,  and  a 
bumboat  came  alongside  with  a  full  cargo. 
There  were  monkeys  of  all  sizes,  colors  and 
ages;  monkeys  with  ring  tails,  monkeys 
with  straight  tails,  and  monkeys  with  no 
tails  at  all.  When  we  left  that  island  eight 
of  our  party  had  monkeys,  and,  gentlemen, 
I  regret  to  say,  I  was  one  of  the  eight.  My 
monkey  was  of  a  sorrel  color  and  had  a  mel- 
ancholy countenance  and  a  ring  tail.  He 
was  also  bald-headed,  which  made  him  look 
religious,  but  I  found,  to  my  cost,  that  he 
was  full  of  satan.  I  tied  him  in  my  state- 
room, and  when  I  came  back  from  dinner  he 
had  thrown  my  best  boots  overboard 
through  the  porthole,  torn  my  nightshirt 
into  strips  and  was  smashing  up  a  box  of 
cigars  which  he  had  found  in  my  valise.  I 
was  seized  with  a  fierce  desire  to  kick  him, 
but  he  looked  so  innocent  and  child-like  that 
I  restrained  myself. 

I  subsequently  regretted  that  I  hadn't, 
for  he  got  loose  and  dropped  his  basketful 
of  excelsior  through  the  skylight  right  down 
on  the  dining  room  table.  I  pursued  him 

39 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


all  over  the  vessel  and  it  finally  cost  me  two 
dollars  to  hire  a  sailor  to  bring  him  down 
from  the  mast-head.  During  the  last  day  of 
our  voyage  we  brought  our  monkeys  on 
deck,  preparatory  to  boxing  them  up  for 
shipment.  It  being  quite  chilly  they  im- 
mediately rushed  together  to  keep  warm 
and  there  was  soon  a  chattering  ball  of  mon- 
keys tangled  into  an  intricate  knot  with 
eight  excited  gentlemen  pulling  at  as  many 
different  chains.  It  was  highly  amusing  to 
the  spectators,  I  can  assure  you.  I  gave  his 
bald-headed  highness  to  my  sister's  little 
boy,  and  she  didn't  speak  to  me  for  more 
than  six  months,  and  I  don't  blame  her.  " 

There  was  a  prolonged  silence  after  the 
major's  narrative  was  finished,  and  then  Mr. 
Brown  said,  "Well,  all  the  monkeys  that  I 
buy  after  this  will  be  stuffed  ones."  And 
we  echoed  his  sentiments. 

While  we  sit  laughing  and  talking,  the 
hours  fly  by,  the  sun,  sinking  lower  and 
lower,  changes  from  gold  to  orange  and 
from  orange  to  red  until  it  enlarges  into  a 
huge  ball  of  fire,  almost  ready  to  quench  its 
flames  in  the  distant  sea. 

Suddenly,  the  cry  of  land  is  heard  and  im- 
mediately everyone  is  aroused  to  activity 

40 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


and  becomes  eager  to  catch  a  glimpse  of 
terra  firma,  for  when  one  has  been  sailing 
many  days  on  the  ocean,  surrounded  by  a 
vast,  unlimited  waste  of  heaving  water, 
with  nothing  to  break  the  monotonous  hor- 
izon, not  even  the  smoke  of  a  steamer  or 
the  sail  of  a  ship,  the  first  sight  of  land  is 
an  event  not  to  be  passed  by  with  contempt. 
Turning  our  glasses  in  the  direction  indi- 
cated, the  chain  of  mountains  forming  the 
eastern  end  of  Porto  Rico  is  faintly  visible. 
The  distant  peaks  seem  only  a  misty  purple 
cloud  lying  on  the  bosom  of  the  water,  but 
as  the  sun  suddenly  sinks  behind  their  sum- 
mits a  golden  band  of  light  bounds  for  an 
instant  their  towering  crests  until  our  lin- 
gering gaze  is  closed  by  night.  In  an  hour 
the  black  outlines  of  St.  Thomas  loom  up 
dead  ahead  and  just  as  soon  as  the  moon  is 
rising  over  the  bluffs,  which  gird  its  harbor, 
our  anchor  sinks  with  a  splash  to  the  bot- 
tom, leaving  us  eagerly  awaiting  the  com- 
ing morn. 

St.  Thomas  is  a  picturesque  little  city,  sit- 
uated on  the  bight  of  a  beautiful  bay,  al- 
most surrounded  by  mountains.  Its  houses 
painted  white,  almost  without  an  excep- 
tion, stand  sharply  outlined  against  the  dark 

41 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


green  foliage  of  the  mountain  side.  Being 
a  great  commercial  center,  ships  of  every 
nationality  float  in  its  harbor  and  when  at 
night  the  myriads  of  twinkling  lights  from 
the  vessels  send  their  rays  dancing  across 
the  water  and  luna  lends  her  softening  light 
to  the  scene ;  when  nothing  is  heard  but  the 
sullen  booming  of  the  surf  on  the  break- 
water, or  the  occasional  chime  of  bells  from 
a  distant  ship,  one  wonders  if  a  prettier 
picture  can  be  found  the  world  over.  St. 
Thomas  belongs  to  Denmark,  and  the  Unit- 
ed States  coquetted  with  the  Danish  gov- 
ernment for  some  time  with  the  object  of 
buying  the  island  for  a  coaling  station.  For 
such  a  purpose  it  presents  many  facilities 
and  is  almost  impregnable  from  a  naval 
bombardment,  but  at  certain  seasons  of  the 
year  it  is  hot  and  unhealthy,  owing  to  de- 
ficient drainage,  and  the  encircling  moun- 
tains. In  fact,  Kingsley  says  that  "it  is  a 
veritable  Dutch  oven  for  cooking  fever  in, 
with  as  veritable  a  dripping  pan  to  catch  the 
poison  when  concocted  in  the  tideless  basin 
below  the  town." 

There  are  several  large  coal  docks  at  St. 
Thomas  where  men-of-war,  merchant  ves- 
sels, and  tramps  can  take  on  a  fresh  supply 

42 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


of  fuel  on  their  voyage  to  and  from  New 
York  and  South  American  ports.  The  coal- 
ing is  done  entirely  by  women,  strong,  bare- 
footed, loud  voiced  wenches  they  are,  too, 
dressed  in  a  single  garment  of  calico  reach- 
ing to  their  knees,  with  perhaps  a  bandana 
tied  carelessly  around  the  head.  To  and  fro 
they  go,  singing,  shouting  and  uttering  lan- 
guage too  foul  for  pen  to  write  or  tongue  to 
repeat.  Imagine  a  number  of  these  women 
in  close  Indian  file,  each  with  a  huge  bas- 
ket of  coal  poised  on  her  head,  walking  to- 
ward the  ship — imagine  a  similar  line  issu- 
ing from  it  with  empty  baskets,  and  so  on, 
in  endless  rotation,  which  can  only  be  likened 
to  the  ceaseless  circling  of  the  cups  on  an 
elevator  belt,  and  you  will  have  a  fair  pic- 
ture of  the  scene.  Frequently,  a  buxom  lady 
of  color,  comelier  than  her  sisters,  will  step 
out  of  the  line  and  begin  an  uncouth  dance 
for  the  edification  of  the  passengers,  whom 
she  asks  to  "please  fling  a  copper,  massa." 
Christmas,  New  Year's  and  Easter  are 
great  fete  days  with  these  people,  and  at 
such  times  rum  flows  as  freely  as  water,  in 
fact,  more  freely,  for  year  before  last  rum 
sold  for  ten  cents  a  gallon  and  water  fifteen 
condition  of  things  to  delight  the  heart 

43 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


of  the  veriest  old  soaker  in  Christendom. 
When  a  steamer  warps  up  to  the  dock  on 
a  dark  Christmas  night,  the  passengers  im- 
agine they  are  on  the  threshold  of  Pluto's 
dark  abode,  and  that  all  his  imps  have  come 
to  give  them  welcome.  For  at  such  a  time 
a  drunken,  reeling  crowd  of  brutes  (I  can- 
not call  them  human  beings)  swarm  under 
the  flickering  light  of  the  large  flambeaux 
of  coal;  fighting,  cursing,  lying  in  all  condi- 
tions of  drunkenness  and  debauchery,  their 
condition  appeals  to  heaven.  Here  is  the 
missing  link  in  the  mighty  chain  of  evolu- 
tion; these  are  the  humanized  apes  of 
Charles  Darwin;  the  relations  of  the  gorilla 
at  the  London  Zoo. 

The  next  morning,  while  I  stand  watch- 
ing a  wool-pulling  pugilistic  encounter  be- 
tween two  of  these  Amazon  chimpanzees, 
an  idea  suddenly  strikes  my  mind  which 
causes  me  to  hurry  to  my  stateroom  and  be- 
gin fumbling  in  my  trunk  for  an  article  pre- 
viously provided  for  this  very  occasion. 
When  I  return  to  the  deck  with  a  hook  about 
seven  inches  long  with  a  foot  of  stout  chain 
attached  to  it,  there  is  blood  on  the  moon, 
and  the  party  of  men,  one  and  all,  know 
that  a  sharking  bee  is  imminent.  If  you 

44 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


want  to  rejuvenate  a  lot  of  old  grandfathers, 
take  them  to  St.  Thomas  and  start  a  shark 
hunt,  and  you  will  have  them  acting  like  a 
pack  of  school  boys  in  less  than  five  min- 
utes. Brown  hurried  below  to  borrow  a 
strong  rope  of  the  boatswain,  .Fairwater 
dragged  his  six  feet  three  away  in  search  of 
a  piece  of  plank  to  act  as  a  cork,  while  Mr. 
A.  undertook  to  provide  several  pounds  of 
salt  pork  as  bait.  Finally,  all  was  in  readi- 
ness and  away  went  rope,  hook,  plank  and 
bait  over  the  vessel's  side  into  the  water, 
while  the  men  took  positions  along  the  line, 
ready  to  haul  in  anything  from  a  shark  to  a 
salamander. 

How  we  watched  that  plank  as  it  floated 
away  from  the  vessel's  side.  Major  Sellers, 
as  he  slowly  paid  out  the  line,  said  that  it 
made  him  feel  just  as  if  he  were  in  a  dent- 
ist's chair  waiting  for  a  tooth  to  be  drawn. 
Five  minutes,  ten,  a  quarter  of  an  hour;  en- 
thusiasm began  to  wane.  Bets  were  freely 
offered  that  there  wasn't  a  shark  within  ten 
miles  of  St.  Thomas.  Mr.  Brown  sang  a 
song,  ending  with  "the  shark  he  laughed  as 
he  spat  out  the  cue  and  said  for  a  heathen 
Chinee,  you'll  do."  But,  suddenly,  a  dark 
triangular  fin  cuts  the  water  and  glides  swift- 

45 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


ly  toward  the  spot  where  the  bait  is  swirl- 
ing and  eddying  in  the  easy  tide.  Down 
goes  bait,  hook  and  all,  while  his  sharkship 
starts  complacently  away  in  search  of  more 
tidbits.  The  line  tightens,  strains,  and  there 
is  a  prodigious  splash  accompanied  by  a  jerk 
which  fairly  makes  our  arms  crack  in  their 
sockets  and  we  realize  that  the  fight  is  on. 

By  this  time  everybody  on  board  is  eager- 
ly watching  the  sport  and  we  of  the  line 
know  that  it  is  now  or  never,  and  that  we 
must  knuckle  down  to  business  if  we  desire 
the  laurel  wreath  of  victory  to  encircle  our 
curling  locks  (that  is,  those  of  us  who  are 
not  bald-headed). 

"Give  her  more  slack,"  shouts  the  major, 
as  the  rope  buzzes  through  our  hands,  car- 
rying with  it  pieces  of  cuticle  of  various 
sizes  and  dimensions. 

"Snub  her!  snub  her!"  yells  Alum,  danc- 
ing around  in  wild  excitement,  the  perspira- 
tion streaming  from  his  face. 

"Now  for  a  long,  strong  pull,  and  alto- 
gether, she's  going  to  run,"  shouts  Fairwa- 
ter,  bracing  himself  for  a  great  effort,  but 
she  doesn't  run,  she  turns  and  comes  swing- 
ing back  with  a  celerity  that  sends  every 
mother's  son  of  us  off  his  feet  onto  the  deck. 

46 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Fairwater's  feet  strike  the  Frenchman  in  the 
back  with  the  catapultic  force  of  a  roan 
mule's  heels.  Mr.  Alum  receives  a  black 
eye  from  an  unknown  elbow,  while  the  stout 
man  deposits  his  two  hundred  and  fifty 
pounds  squarely  on  Brown's  stiff  hat.  But 
then  we  don't  mind  such  little  trifles,  "light 
as  air"  (but  of  course  I  don't  classify  the 
stout  man  as  a  trifle  by  a  large  majority). 

The  shark  continues  to  rush  back  and 
forth,  raising  the  water  into  billows  and 
lashing  them  into  foam  with  his  tail,  but 
we  notice  that  his  efforts  are  growing  weak- 
er and  our  courage  increases  accordingly. 
We  pull  and  haul  with  renewed  vigor  and 
slowly,  but  surely,  the  monster  begins  to 
give  ground;  foot  by  foot  the  rope  comes 
in  while  Mr.  A.  stands  ready  to  put  a  bullet 
in  his  brain  at  the  first  opportunity.  Turn- 
ing and  rolling,  striking  out  vigorously  now 
and  then  in  a  last  dash  for  liberty,  our  cap- 
tive is  gradually  hauled  alongside,  his  eyes 
glittering  with  a  baleful  glare,  his  huge  jaws 
grinding  viciously  against  the  iron  chain ;  no 
wonder  he  is  called  the  scourge  of  the  sea. 

Mr.  A.  seizes  a  favorable  moment,  the 
bullet  drives  home,  a  titanic  convulsion  fol- 
lows, the  water  is  hurled  in  all  directions, 

47 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 

the  waves  swirl  and  eddy  under  the  power- 
ful blows;  but  nature  is  at  last  exhausted, 
a  calm  succeeds  the  storm  and,  as  the  shark 
rises  to  the  surface,  turning  his  glistening 
belly  toward  the  sky  in  token  of  surrender, 
a  crowd  of  perspiring  men  stand  on  the  Al- 
liance's deck,  and,  as  they  wipe  their  stream- 
ing faces,  congratulate  each  other  on  the 
result  of  their  first  shark  hunt.  The  shark 
was  of  the  white  or  man-eater  variety  and 
measured  seventeen  feet,  nine  inches  from 
the  tip  of  his  tail  to  the  bony  projecting 
snout.  I  tried  to  hire  a  darky  to  tow  the 
carcass  ashore  and  cut  out  the  jaws  for 
mounting  as  a  curiosity,  but  he  said  it  would 
take  three  months  properly  to  cure  them,  so 
I  had  to  abandon  the  plan.  However,  there 
are  plenty  to  be  purchased  in  St.  Kitt's  al- 
ready prepared  and  I  shall  buy  one  there. 
Every  man  who  helped  catch  that  shark  will 
probably  buy  one  also  and  eventually  the 
St.  Thomas  shark  will  be  transformed  into 
quintiplets,  for  of  course  every  owner  of  a 
shark's  jaw  will  brag  about  how  he  caught 
the  shark  that  wore  it,  after  an  exciting 
struggle  in  St.  Thomas  harbor.  This  re- 
calls to  remembrance  the  man  who  didn't 
believe  in  the  New  Testament,  because  all 
the  apostles  were  fishermen. 
48 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


St.  Thomas  being  a  free  port  of  entry, 
many  articles  can  be  purchased  for  about 
one-quarter  the  price  paid  in  the  states. 
Light  clothing,  wines,  cigars  and  bay  rum 
are  particularly  cheap,  while  sufficient  mo- 
lasses rum,  or  kill-devil,  as  it  is  called,  can 
be  had  for  a  quarter,  to  stampede  a  whole 
reservation  of  western  Indians.  We  are  not 
sorry  when  our  anchor  is  lifted  from  its 
muddy  bed  and  the  Alliance  steams  out 
between  the  rocky  shoals  which  guard  the 
entrance  to  the  harbor. 

Once  more  we  are  bowling  along  over 
the  sea,  through  the  balmy  morning  air 
which  breathes  anticipation  of  a  lovely  day. 
The  eye  continues  to  be  charmed  by  the 
sapphire  blue  of  the  water  which  vies  with 
the  sky  in  richness  of  hue.  Long  lines  of 
distant  mountains  lift  their  cloud  capped 
summits  to  the  sky ;  some  near  at  hand,  their 
purple  masses  outlined  against  the  horizon; 
others  more  distant,  blending  their  misty 
forms  with  the  sea  and  sky. 

We  are  now  on  the  waters  over  which 
Columbus  sailed  on  his  second  voyage,  four 
hundred  years  ago,  when  only  the  savage 
Carib  plied  his  canoe  from  shore  to  shore 

49 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


and  was  sole  lord  and  owner  of  these  sum- 
mer islands.  The  fate  of  the  Caribs  is  a 
sad  one  and  deserves  commiseration;  what 
if  they  were  cannibals  and  savages;  they 
greeted  Columbus  with  kindness  and  show- 
ered food  and  presents  upon  his  followers, 
only  to  be  repaid  with  enslavement  and 
death.  Aroused  to  revolt  by  torture  and 
misery,  they  poured  forth  their  blood  on  the 
land  of  their  fathers  and  retreated  from  is- 
land to  island  fighting  in  fierce  opposition 
against  the  encroachment  of  the  greedy 
Spaniard  until  but  a  mere  remnant  remains 
of  a  once  numerous  and  powerful  nation. 
The  great  navigator  was  the  first  to  enslave 
these  people  in  order  to  recoup  his  dimin- 
ished finances  and  hence  a  blot  will  always 
stain  the  history  of  an  otherwise  honored 
name. 

The  famous  pirate  Blackbeard  haunted 
these  waters  for  many  years  and  short  was 
the  shrift  and  quick  the  fate  of  any  unfortu- 
nates who  fell  into  his  hands.  Walking  the 
plank,  shooting  his  victims  from  the  cannon 
mouth  or  dragging  them  astern  as  bait  for 
shark  were  common  amusements  for  this 
bloody  terror  of  the  "Spanish  Main."  Black- 
beard  is  supposed  to  have  buried  countless 

50 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


treasures  on  numerous  islands  and  they  are 
vigorously  sought  for  but  without  success. 

Mark  Twain  says  that  when  he  was  a 
child  he  used  to  wonder,  if  he  was  a  good 
boy  and  said  his  prayers  every  night  and 
went  to  Sunday  school  regularly,  if  God 
would  permit  him  to  be  a  pirate  on  the  Mis- 
sissippi river  when  he  grew  old  enough.  My 
mind,  too,  used  to  be  agitated  by  similar 
desires,  but  the  one  absorbing  ambition  of 
my  life  was  to  be  a  bold,  bad  buccaneer  and, 
like  Blackbeard,  "sail  the  Spanish  Main 
when  the  wind  piped  free'o."  He  was  al- 
ways pictured  in  the  penny  horribles  as  a 
man  of  medium  height,  and  with  a  long 
black  beard,  fierce  mustachios,  and  piercing 
black  eyes.  His  photograph  shows  him 
wearing  four  pistols,  two  cutlasses,  two 
dirks  and  a  knife.  The  only  meritorious  fea- 
ture of  his  life  was  his  perseverance  in  ex- 
terminating the  murderous  Spaniard  whose 
track  is  traced  in  innocent  blood  over  all  this 
fair  country. 

"O,  Christianity,  what  crimes  have  been 
committed  in  thy  name,"  when  thousands 
of  human  beings  have  been  treacherously 
massacred  under  sanction  of  the  church,  be- 
cause, forsooth,  they  were  pagans.  Colonel 

51 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Bob  Ingersoll  once  said  that  it  was  exceed- 
ingly unfortunate  that  this  country  was  dis- 
covered under  the  auspices  of  Spain.  The 
Spaniards  came  to  America  and  destroyed 
two  civilizations  better  than  their  own,  and 
that  they  were  natural  robbers,  buccaneers, 
and  scrupled  not  at  murdering  thousands  for 
gold. 

The  next  morning  we  are  awakened  by 
a  perfect  babel  of  voices  alongside  and  hurry 
on  deck  to  find  ourselves  quietly  riding  at 
anchor  in  the  beautiful  roadstead  of  St. 
Kitt's  with  lofty  Mt.  Misery  lifting  his  head 
among  the  clouds  for  his  early  morning 
bath.  In  this  moisture  laden  air  everything 
seems  to  be  clothed  by  kindly  nature  with 
a  mantle  of  green;  green  of  every  shade, 
from  the  bright  hue  of  the  cane  to  the  dark 
olive  of  the  coffee  plant.  Nestling  at  the 
foot  of  the  mountains,  the  morning  sun  glis- 
tening on  its  snowy  houses  and  painted 
roofs,  lies  the  village  of  Basse  Terre.  Groves 
of  cocoanut  trees  and  tapering  aloes  are  dis- 
tinguished amid  the  tropical  profusion  of 
trees  and  plants,  while  the  smoke  from  the 
sugar  mills,  rises  in  bluish  wreaths  on  the 
mountain  side. 

We   step   to   the   vessel's   side   and   look 

52 


LITTLE    PHILOSOPHIES 


down  into  the  water;  it  is  as  clear  as  crys- 
tal and  one  can  readily  see  to  a  depth  of 
thirty  or  forty  feet.  Myriads  of  bright  col- 
ored fishes  are  swimming  about,  the  sun- 
light glittering  from  their  silvery  sides;  oc- 
casionally, there  is  a  sudden  scattering  as 
the  dark  body  of  a  shark  passes  through 
their  midst — one  can  see  the  ferocious  mon- 
ster as  plainly  as  if  he  were  floating  in  air. 
At  a  distance  a  bonito  suddenly  breaks  wa- 
ter and  goes  skipping  across  the  surface  of 
the  bay  with  a  pelican  in  hot  pursuit. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  vessel  is  a  crowd 
of  bumboat  men  and  women,  shouting,  fight- 
ing, quarreling  and  jostling  each  other  in  a 
manner  that  would  put  to  shame  a  delega- 
tion of  proverbial  Niagara  Falls  hackmen. 
Fruit-vendors,  basket-makers,  washerwom- 
en, longshoremen,  fishermen,  produce-huck- 
sters and  sellers  of  shells,  geographical  spec- 
imens, monkeys  and  parrots  mingle  promis- 
cuously, the  gaudy  headgear  and  bright  cal- 
ico dresses  of  the  women  making  a  scene 
which  can  only  be  described  as  variegated, 
like  an  assortment  of  garden  flowers.  The 
flotilla  of  boats  rise  and  fall  on  the  easy 
swell,  each  man  trying  to  secure  as  advan- 
tageous a  position  as  possible  for  his  little 

53 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


craft  in  which  are  tempting  arrays  of  fruit 
and  flowers,  such  as  cocoanuts,  sugar  cane, 
pineapples,  mangoes,  sour-sops,  roses,  lilies, 
orchids,  and  so  forth.  It  would  tax  the  ca- 
pacity of  a  phonographer  to  record  the  med- 
ley of  sounds  that  are  hurled  at  us  as  we 
step  to  the  vessel's  side.  Amid  the  general 
clamor  such  phrases  are  heard  as  "Massa's 
gwine  ashore  in  de  White  Swan"  (the  White 
Swan,  be  it  understood,  is  anything  but 
white,  and  would  have  been  better  named 
the  Black  Swan). 

"Go  'way  man,  massa  doan  want  your 
boat,  he  gwine  take  de  Champagne  Char- 
lie." 

"De  Abraham  Linkum  right  heah,  sah," 
yells  an  ancient  looking  colored  man,  appeal- 
ing to  our  patriotism. 

"Nice  fruit!   Get  your  fruit." 

"Ga  way,  niggah !  Massa  doan  want  fruit ; 
he  want  dis  nice  little  monkey  heah." 

"Get  outen  de  way  wile  I  takes  dis  lubly 
green  parrot  to  marster." 

"I  break  you  black  head,  niggah." 

"Dis  basket  for  two  shillins  and  a  penny 
for  de  baby,"  shouts  a  big  fat  aunty,  fran- 
tically waving  a  bamboo  basket  in  one  hand 
and  a  chubby  black  baby  in  the  other. 

54 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


(Whether  she  meant  to  sell  the  baby  for  a 
penny  or  demanded  a  penny  as  a  gift  to  the 
baby,  was  never  clearly  understood.) 

Fairwater  and  Brown  fought  shy  of  mon- 
keys, but  Mr.  Alum  was  inveigled  into  buy- 
ing a  parrot  which  made  his  life  miserable 
by  screaming  and  chattering  until  it  choked 
to  death  trying  to  swallow  a  brass  collar 
button. 

Miss  Gush  purchased  two  little  love-birds 
or  parroquets  and  the  French  gentleman  se- 
cured a  dyspeptic-looking  ape,  but  one  of 
the  love-birds  got  away  and  the  ape  caught 
and  ate  the  other,  so  all  that  remains  of  our 
menagerie  after  all  is  the  ape,  and  he  doesn't 
look  robust. 

After  luncheon  Major  Sellers  suggested 
a  drive  around  the  island,  so  we  all  embarked 
in  the  "White  Swan,"  and  went  ashore.  As 
we  pulled  away  from  the  Alliance,  the  men 
began  to  keep  time  to  their  oars  with  the 
song  of 

Darkey  sing  and  pull  away'o, 
Darkey  sing  and  pull  away'o, 
Darkey  sing  and  pull  away'o, 
Darkey  sing  and  pull  away'o, 

During  our  trip  across,  our  captain — of 
the  White  Swan — a  garrulous  old  fellow 

55 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


with  a  skin  as  black  as  ebony,  told  us  all  the 
news,  from  the  state  of  the  weather  to  the 
queen's  health,  and  among  other  things  that 
his  name  was  Felix  McGinnis. 

"I  told  him  I  was  glad  to  learn  that  we 
were  of  the  same  nationality,  as  I  was  Irish 
myself.  The  old  man  seemed  half  inclined 
to  think  that  I  was  poking  fun  at  him,  and 
made  a  remark  to  that  effect,  but  Major 
Sellers  came  to  my  rescue. 

"Why,  Captain  McGinnis,"  said  the  in- 
genuous major,  "O'Thello,  the  dusky  hero 
of  Shakespeare's  muse,  was  an  Irishman,  as 
you  can  see  by  his  name;  you  must  eradi- 
cate this  erroneous  and  superfluous  ambigui- 
ty from  your  protoplasmical  cranial  anato- 
my instantanteously." 

Felix  slowly  scratched  his  head,  as  if  par- 
tially convinced  and  said,  "Dat  idea  come 
to  me  before,  sah,  but  I  couldn't  edjackly 
made  it  predicate." 

Our  arrival  at  the  wharf  was  witnessed 
by  a  battalion  of  hucksters  and  children 
(the  latter  generally  being  in  undress  uni- 
form). They  crowded  around  us  and  com- 
mented freely  and  audibly  on  our  appear- 
ance, as  if  seemingly  oblivious  of  our  pres- 
ence. This  unmannerly  habit  is  common 

56 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


in  all  the  islands,  being  due  to  good-natured 
curiosity  rather  than  viciousness.  Some  of 
the  remarks  that  reached  our  ears  were  not 
only  laughable,  but  a  little  embarrassing  as 
well. 

"Look  at  dat  lady  wid  de  red  bunnit,  speck 
she  pay  a  heap  for  it." 

"Dat  man  mighty  tall  for  dat  little  wom- 
an." 

"See  dat  fat  genleman;  Lawdy,  how  he 
a  sweaten." 

"What  the  mattah  wid  dat  man's  laigs, 
pear  like  he  can't  walk  good?"  and  so  forth 
all  along  our  route  to  the  carriages. 

Leaving  the  rabble  behind  we  were  soon 
bowling  along  through  the  narrow  streets 
of  Basse  Terre,  catching  now  and  then  a 
glimpse  of  a  dramshop  or  the  sailor's  so- 
called  paradise,  where  night  turns  into  day 
and  day  into  night — a  hell  hole  covered  with 
the  somber  mantle  of  darkness,  the  favorite 
garb  of  sin. 

As  we  pass  the  suburban  residences  the 
graceful  bamboo  and  nodding  aloe  beckon 
to  us  over  the  walls  as  if  to  invite  our  fur- 
ther inspection  of  their  beauties,  but  so 
many  strange  and  novel  sights,  such  a  pro- 
fusion of  flora  greets  our  eyes  that  we  are 

57 


LITTLE    PHILOSOPHIES 


kept  constantly  bobbing  about  from  side  to 
side  as  a  new  flower  or  fruit  attracts  our  at- 
tention. Gradually  ascending  the  mountain- 
side time  passes  unheeded  and  we  are  not 
aware  of  our  position  until  a  sudden  turn 
in  the  road  brings  us  into  view  of  such  a 
scene  of  tropic  loveliness  as  seldom  greets 
the  eye  of  man.  Spread  out  before  us  were 
forest-covered  hills  as  green  with  creeping 
plant  and  tangled  vine  as  only  torrid  sun 
and  moisture  can  color  them.  A  row  of 
stately  cocoanut  trees  lined  the  place  where 
sloping  hill  and  sparkling  wave  of  ocean 
met.  Blue  peaks  of  distant  islands  lay  all 
around,  some  near,  some  breaking  the  mo- 
notony of  a  waste  of  waters.  Two  lofty 
mountains  towered  above  us,  one  piled  up- 
on the  other  as  Ossa  upon  Pelion,  which 
position  suggested  to  Columbus  the  name 
he  bestowed  upon  the  island,  St.  Christo- 
pher, bearing  the  Infant  Christ. 

On  the  leeward  side  of  St.  Kitt's  is  Brim- 
stone Hill,  a  great  boulder  or  rock  several 
hundreds  of  feet  high,  and  often  called  the 
Gibraltar  of  America,  owing  to  its  impreg- 
nable position.  Once  strongly  fortified,  it 
is  now  abandoned  and  its  deserted  case- 
ments have  been  appropriated  by  battalions 

58 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


of  monkeys  that  probably  make  a  much 
more  orderly  and  moral  garrison  than  the 
former  occupants. 

This  monkey  fortress  differs  very  little 
from  one  under  human  domination  if,  in- 
deed, one  can  make  the  distinction  "human" 
between  monkey  and  man.  They  have  their 
foraging  parties  and  their  pickets,  their  gen- 
erals and  captains.  Discipline  is  strictly  en- 
forced, affairs  of  the  state  are  lengthily  dis- 
cussed; in  fact  if  Prof.  Garner  were  here  he 
could  probably  interpret  a  weighty  debate 
relative  to  the  "banana  bill,"  or  a  measure 
appropriating  five-hundred  wall-eyed  cocoa- 
nut  trees  for  a  monkey  insane  asylum.  In 
the  early  morning  hours,  if  one  will  hide  in 
a  cane-field  or  thicket,  he  will  witness  the 
sally  of  a  foraging  party  in  its  descent  on 
the  outlying  plantations,  in  search  of  the 
succulent  banana  and  other  toothsome  fruits. 
Suddenly,  from  over  a  stone  casement  will 
appear  the  leader  of  the  party,  a  venerable 
patriarch  with  a  head  wrinkled  like  a  wal- 
nut and  wearing  an  Oscar  Wilde  cast  of 
countenance.  After  looking  carefully  about 
as  if  satisfied  with  the  tranquil  aspect  of 
things  he  will  lazily  scratch  a  fiea  from  his 
ear  with  his  left  hind  leg  and,  wrapping  the 

59 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


end  of  his  tail  around  a  rusty  spike,  lower 
himself  hand  over  hand,  down  a  twisted 
vine,  followed  by  the  whole  monkey  cohort. 
Kokomo,  the  commander  in  chief  and  presi- 
dent of  the  monkey  republic,  is  a  grizzled 
veteran  of  great  knowledge  and  experience. 
He  has  been  wounded  in  every  part  of  his 
body  by  enraged  planters  but  still  lives  to 
lend  his  advice  to  younger  and  rasher  heads. 

But  I  fear  that  in  pursuing  this  subject 
of  anthropoid  history,  I  am  consuming  val- 
uable time,  for  every  one  desires  to  learn 
about  the  lazaretto  or  leper  hospital. 

Let  us  follow  our  winding  road  a  little 
farther  down  the  coast  and  we  shall  come 
to  a  house  of  dismal  aspect  girded  by  a  high 
stone  wall,  inclosing  ten  or  fifteen  acres. 
The  silence  of  death  rests  here  and  people 
in  passing  grow  solemn  as  if  in  the  presence 
of  death.  Even  the  plant-life  seems  stunted 
and  the  uniform  luxuriant  vegetation  of  the 
tropics  recedes  from  the  place  as  if  con- 
trolled by  influences  akin  to  those  which  agi- 
tate the  human  breast.  They  who  enter  in 
come  not  out,  immured  within  these  walls, 
cut  off  from  friends,  torn  from  those  beloved, 
what  burden  of  sorrow  untold  must  rest  up- 
on the  breast.  What  grief  that,  like  a  can- 

60 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


ker,  groweth  at  the  heart !  Appreciate,  those 
who  can,  the  fearful  suffering  of  Terzah  and 
her  mother  so  vividly  portrayed  in  Ben-hur, 
isolated  for  life,  enrapt  in  the  darkness  of 
the  grave.  Would  that  the  illusion  of  Christ 
were  true,  that  he  might  tear  aside  the  bonds 
of  these  poor  wretches  as  he  is  made  to 
do  in  the  creation  of  Gen.  Lew  Wallace. 

Let  chronology  be  deranged  and  time  put 
back  six  months  that  the  reader  may  hear 
a  story  as  related  to  us  by  a  priest  of  the 
Catholic  church,  as  we  all  sat  in  our  carri- 
ages over-looking  the  place  where  the  events 
of  his  story  had  taken  place.  The  father's 
tale  related  to  one  of  those  pathetic  inci- 
dents so  common  the  wide  world  over  where 
maternal  love  sacrifices  a  mother's  all  on  the 
altar  of  her  children.  The  narrative  was 
widely  fraught  with  mournful  remem- 
brances, and  the  father's  voice  was  sad  and 
low. 

In  one  of  the  rural  districts  of  St.  Kitt's, 
near  the  spot  where  old  Mt.  Misery  rears 
his  jagged  summit  toward  the  sky,  a  little 
cabin,  as  if  conscious  of  its  insignificance, 
lies  snugly  tucked  away  under  a  protecting 
ledge  of  one  of  those  green  hills,  which  rise 
so  proudly  from  the  bosom  of  the  sea.  Vines 

61 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


of  gorgeous  flora  drop  their  tendrils  from 
the  ledge  above,  while  others  clamber  up 
the  rough  board  walls  to  greet  and  twine 
about  their  comrades.  Trees  of  various 
fruitages  stand  close  about  the  place,  while 
the  towering  cocoanut  keeps  sentinel  with- 
out and  the  banana  reaches  its  broad  leaves 
across  the  roof  to  gossip  with  the  whisper- 
ing aloe.  In  the  shady  bower,  beneath  this 
maze  of  vegetation,  one  can  hear  the  music 
of  a  mountain  rill,  as  it  leaps  from  ledge  to 
ledge,  on  its  way  to  join  the  sea  below.  Birds 
of  brilliant  plumage  of  varied  hue  pass 
through  the  checkered  sunlight  beneath  the 
trees,  while  the  little  chameleon  of  many  col- 
ors peeps  saucily  out  from  leafy  covert  or 
mossy  banks.  In  such  a  climate  nature 
seems  to  sleep,  the  senses  are  lulled,  the  very 
air  is  full  of  soporific  influences,  the  active 
energy  of  the  north  gives  place  to  an  inde- 
finable sense  of  rest  and  life  moves  along 
like  a  placid  river  with  scarcely  a  ripple  to 
disturb  the  quiet  of  its  surface.  Within 
this  peaceful  cottage  there  dwelt  a  widow 
and  her  only  child,  a  son  of  eighteen.  The 
blood  of  four  races  flowed  through  their 
veins.  The  French  mingling  with  the  Span- 
ish, the  English  dyed  by  the  deep,  red  blood 

62 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 

of  the  ancient  Carib.  A  certain  refinement 
imparted  by  the  father,  kept  them  aloof  from 
their  coarser  neighbors,  and  only  knit  more 
strongly  the  bond  between  mother  and  son. 
Living  in  such  simple  seclusion  and  in  a 
climate  where  nature  is  so  bountiful,  their 
wants  were  few  and  easily  supplied.  The 
lad  fished  and  dove  for  bits  of  coral  and 
curious  shells.  The  mother  watched  the 
house  and  busied  herself  about  those  little 
domestic  duties  so  necessary  to  a  cheerful 
home. 

One  day,  at  the  commencement  of  that  sea- 
son when  the  rain  descends  in  torrents,  and 
sun  and  moisture  conspire  to  force  the  won- 
derful growth  so  unfamiliar  north,  the  boy 
noticed  a  small  white  patch  faintly  outlined 
against  the  dusky  background  of  his  arm. 
Time  passed,  the  patch  grew  larger,  a  vague, 
uncertain  dread  possessed  his  mind ;  he  often 
gazed  lovingly  at  his  mother,  caressing  her 
less  frequently,  and  often  musing  for  hours 
at  a  time,  when  alone  with  his  melancholy 
thoughts.  Then  came  a  day  of  suffering 
such  as  the  little  cabin  had  never  witnessed. 
The  visit  of  the  health  inspector,  his  discov- 
ery of  the  boy's  condition ;  the  truth  burst- 
ing upon  the  bewildered  senses  of  the 
mother.  What  a  sound  for  sympathetic 
63 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


ears,  to  hear  that  mother  cry  out  as  she 
flung  herself  on  her  son's  neck:  "My  son, 
my  only  child,  my  baby,  a  leper!" 

The  physician  tried  to  soothe  the  grief- 
stricken  parent,  telling  her  how  necessary 
it  was  to  the  welfare  of  the  community  that 
her  son  should  be  isolated,  telling  her  how 
easy  it  was  to  contract  the  disease  by  acci- 
dentally introducing  offensive  scales  into  a 
slight  cut  or  wound.  As  the  doctor's  last 
words  reached  her  ear  and  their  meaning 
became  plain,  a  sudden  light  broke  over  her 
countenance,  then  her  features  hardened 
with  a  determination  that  bore  the  sem- 
blance of  resignation.  She  became  more 
cheerful  at  once  and  eagerly  begged  that 
Francois  might  be  allowed  to  rest  within 
the  cottage  one  more  day.  That  night,  as 
the  moon  feebly  strove  to  penetrate  the  tan- 
gled thicket  before  the  house  and  the  trees 
sent  grotesque  shadows  dancing  across  the 
sward,  the  mother  arose  and  walked  softly 
to  where  her  son  lay  tossing  on  his  couch, 
mindful  even  in  sleep  of  his  dismal  fate  and 
the  separation  of  tomorrow.  She  stooped 
and  kissed  his  fevered  brow,  touched  the 
polluted  arm  with  unshrinking  hand,  a  knife 
flashed  dimly  in  the  moonlight,  as  the  mother 

64 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


gashed  herself.  Then  she  stole  softly  to 
her  chamber  and  fell  on  her  knees,  praying 
for  forgiveness  and  for  Francois  and  her- 
self that  they  should  be  together. 

Time  passed  and  Francois  had  been  sev- 
eral months  inside  the  huge  stone  walls 
which  enclose  so  hideous  an  ulcer  amid  such 
surrounding  loveliness.  The  ponderous  iron 
gate  had  closed  behind,  burying  him  from 
the  world.  The  mother  remained  in  the  little 
cabin  waiting  patiently,  hoping,  praying  that 
she  might  be  permitted  to  join  Francois. 
One  morning  her  hopes  were  realized.  A 
faint  spot  appeared  on  her  arm;  she  cried 
aloud  for  joy,  and  kissed  the  place  in  her 
happiness,  thankful  that  at  last  she,  too,  was 
a  leper.  Down  the  winding  road  one  morn- 
ing came  the  mother,  her  face  aglow  with 
expectation.  No  thought  of  self,  of  friends, 
of  freedom,  disturbed  the  calmness  of  her 
soul.  Her  son,  her  child,  was  the  one  ab- 
sorbing subject  of  her  mind.  She  reached 
the  place,  the  heavy  gate  swung  back,  a 
hideous  muffled  figure  bade  her  enter. 

"Where  is  Francois,  where  is  my  son?"  she 
was  heard  to  cry.  The  answer  came  in  sep- 
ulchral tones  from  the  loathsome  warden, 
"Francois  died  two  days  ago  and  is  buried." 

65 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


The  gate  swung  heavily  on  its  hinges,  the 
bolt  sank  into  place;  further  we  may  not 
enter. 

"Let  us  drive  on,"  said  Brown,  "the  air 
is  stifling,"  and  we  drove  on. 

We  left  St.  Kitt's  that  evening  and 
steamed  regretfully  away  on  our  course  to 
Martinique.  The  sun  was  just  setting  as 
we  lifted  anchor. 

With  disc-like  battle  target  red, 
He  rushes  to  his  fiery  bed, 
Dyes  the  wild  wave  with  bloody  light, 
Then  sinks  at  once  and  all  is  night. 

And  so  it  is  for  there  is  no  twilight  in 
the  tropics— after  the  sun  sets  there  is  a 
period  of  intense  darkness  during  which, 
"Silently,  one  by  one  in  the  infinite  mea- 
dows of  heaven,  blossom  the  lovely  stars ; 
the  forget-me-nots  of  the  angels."  Then 
comes  the  moon — the  glorious  moon  of  the 
tropics,  not  the  northern  moon  or  any  re- 
lation to  it,  but  a  big  round  ball  of  melting 
light  which  floods  mountain  and  sea  with  its 
softened  brilliance  and  sends  the  stars  back 
to  their  places  with  diminished  luster. 

As  our  party  grouped  themselves  on  the 
steamer's  deck  that  evening  and  lazily  re- 
clined in  their  steamer  chairs  nothing 

66 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


seemed  wanting  to  perfect  the  night  or  add 
to  the  beauty  of  a  scene  as  weird,  lovely  and 
enchanting  as  nature  can  make  it.  The  la- 
dies watched  the  silver-tipped  clouds  rest- 
ing against  the  tall  summit  of  Nevis,  watch- 
ed the  changing  shadows  on  its  river  sides 
and  grew  sentimental.  The  gentlemen  gazed 
silently  at  the  smoke  curling  upward  from 
their  cigars — traced  the  broad  shadows  of 
the  mountain  spread  darkly  out  across  the 
bay — noticed  the  moonlight  sparkling  like 
a  thousand  jewels  on  the  rippling  water  and 
grew  religious. 

Some  prefer  to  worship  in  a  house  built 
by  the  hand  of  man,  others  worship  nature. 

In  that  cathedral  boundless  as  our  wonder, 
Whose    quenchless    lamps    the    sun    and    moon 
supply, 

Its  choir  the  wind  and  waves,  its  organ,  thunder, 
Its  dome,  the  sky. 

There  are  any  number  of  people  whose 
eyes  will  fill  with  tears  at  the  sight  of  a 
dried  bone  said  to  have  formerly  belonged 
to  the  anatomy  of  a  saint — this  is  called 
piety.  There  are  others  whose  emotions 
will  overmaster  them  at  the  foot  of  Niaga- 
ra's mighty  cataract  and  who  look  no  fur- 
ther for  a  deity — this  is  designated  as  infi- 

67 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


delity.  Presently  one  of  our  party  steals 
away  and  soon  the  soft  prelude  to  that  beau- 
tiful song,  "Evening  Hymn  To  The  Vir- 
gin," is  heard  floating  up  from  the  salon 
below.  We  are  just  in  the  mood  to  appre- 
ciate both  the  music  and  words: 

Ave  sanctissima  we  lift  our  souls  to  thee, 
Ora  pro  nobis  'tis  nightfall  on  the  sea, 

Watch  us  while  shadows  lie, 

Far  o'er  the  waters  spread, 

Hear  the  heart's  lonely  sigh, 

Thine  too  hath  bled. 
Thou,  that  hast  looked  on  death, 
Aid  us  when  death  is  nigh, 

Whisper  of  heaven's  faith, 

Sweet  mother,  sweet  mother,  hear, 
Ora  pro  nobis  the  waves  shall  rock  our  sleep, 
Ora  mater,  ora  star  of  the  deep. 

It  is  growing  late  as  the  last  sweet  strains 
die  away  and  the  ladies  retire  to  their  sev- 
eral state-rooms.  I  hunt  an  easy  chair  be- 
tween the  stout  gentleman  and  the  major 
and  make  a  remark  to  the  latter  relative  to 
the  beauty  of  the  night.  Alas,  I  am  greet- 
ed by  an  unmistakable  snore!  I  turn  to  my 
left  for  consolation — shade  of  morpheus !  he 
too  is  en  concert.  I  give  up  in  despair, 
throw  my  head  back  in  the  chair,  take  a  last 
look  at  the  moon's  meek  face  and — join  the 
chorus.  So  we  slept. 

68 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 

Old  Sol  got  up  early  the  next  morning, 
shook  the  sea-water  from  his  face  and  sent 
his  rays  across  the  top  of  Dominica  directly 
into  our  faces.  The  air  came  from  the  is- 
land laden  with  the  fragrant  odor  of  tropi- 
cal fruits  and  flowers. 

"Gentlemen,  this  is  glorious,"  said  the  ma- 
jor, rubbing  his  eyes.  "There  we  went  to 
sleep  last  night  listening  to  sweet  sounds, 
caressed  by  the  balmy  air,  and  rocked  in 
old  ocean's  lap ;  this  morning  the  sun  smiles 
upon  us,  we  drink  in  the  healthful  ozone 
and  (at  this  juncture  a  flying  fish  arose 
from  the  sea  and  flew  directly  into  the  ma- 
jor's lap)  here,"  continued  he,  "is  food  to 
our  hand." 

"Let  us  go  below,"  quoth  Brown,  "and 
make  our  early  morning  observations 
through  the  ship's  glasses,"  and  we  staid  not 
on  the  order  of  our  going. 

Martinique  is  the  most  healthful  of  all  the 
Caribbee  Islands,  its  vegetation  is  greener, 
its  mountains  more  imposing,  its  cliffs  more 
jagged  and  its  streams  fall  in  glittering  cas- 
cades down  the  mountain  sides.  Martinique 
is  celebrated  as  the  birth-place  of  the  Em- 
press Josephine,  whose  praises  have  been 
sung  by  innumerable  historians.  Martinique 

69 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


is  noted  for  its  beautiful  botanical  garden  or 
Jardin  des  Plantes,  its  chocolate  and  its  ven- 
omous serpent,  the  fer  de  lance.  If  one 
wishes  to  visit  a  strange,  delightful  place, 
a  place  associated  with  many  romantic  me- 
moirs, a  place  of  indolent  enjoyment  apart 
from  the  world  let  him  come  to  Martinique. 
Here  he  will  have  his  black  coffee  brought 
to  his  bed-side  at  seven,  he  will  breakfast 
at  nine,  bathe  in  the  fountaine  chaud  at 
eleven,  luncheon  at  two,  take  his  siesta  at 
three  and  dine  when  the  hours  strike  eight 
— what  a  truly  delightful  schedule  of  time 
for  one  who  is  not  in  vigorous  pursuit  of 
the  almighty  dollar.  But  to  our  party  these 
pleasures  are  as  yet  in  perspective  for  the 
Alliance  has  just  anchored  and  we  are  be- 
ing rowed  to  shore  as  fast  as  the  strokes 
of  four  black  fellows  will  propel  us.  The 
fates  kindly  deliver  me  from  any  further 
acquaintance  with  crowds  on  the  wharves 
of  West  Indies  Islands.  It  is  bad  enough 
at  St.  Kitt's  where  English  is  spoken,  but 
to  be  surrounded  by  a  babbling  crowd  of 
French  negroes  who  launch  their  unintel- 
ligible polyglot  into  your  face  is  infinitely 
worse.  We  finally  escape  with  our  lives 
and  are  driven  to  the  Hotel  des  Raines. 

70 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


St.  Pierre,  the  principal  city  of  Marti- 
nique, lies  at  the  bend  of  a  broad  bay  backed 
by  tall  mountains.  Most  of  the  streets  run 
at  right  angles  to  the  shore  line  and  grad- 
ually ascend  the  mountain  side  as  they  re- 
treat from  the  water.  Down  each  street 
rushes  a  sparkling  stream  of  water  fresh 
from  the  mountains — a  stream  acting  as 
water  pipe,  sewer  pipe,  wash-tub,  bath-tub 
and  a  host  of  other  conveniences  peculiar 
to  Martiniquans.  The  dusky  matrons  of 
St.  Pierre  do  their  washing  in  the  middle  of 
the  street  before  their  own  vine  and  fig 
tree  while  the  little  pickaninnies  paddle  in 
the  stream  with  the  geese  and  learn  to  swim 
about  as  soon  as  they  can  walk.  The  Mar- 
tinique blanchieuse  has  a  peculiar  way  of 
doing  business ;  she  takes  a  shirt,  spreads 
it  out  on  a  flat  rock  in  the  stream  and,  seat- 
ing herself  before  it,  proceeds  to  maul  the 
life  out  of  it  with  a  wooden  club.  This  may 
be  an  effectual  way  of  cleaning  it,  but  it 
is  hard  on  the  shirt;  in  fact,  all  the  owner 
ever  gets  back  of  his  shirt  is  the  bosom  and 
a  few  broken  buttons.  These  mountain 
streams  are  one  of  the  most  unique  features 
of  St.  Pierre  and  rank  it  among  the  cleanest 
cities  of  the  world.  One  is  refreshed  by 

71 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


the  very  sound  of  their  waters  rippling  mer- 
rily down  to  the  sea  while  the  delightful 
coolness  imparted  by  the  mountain  temper- 
ature, creates  a  longing  to  climb  the  hill 
side  and  take  a  dip  in  a  secluded  pool  amid 
tropical  vegetation. 

St.  Pierre  is  a  typical  French  village  trans- 
ported to  Martinique  and  it  loses  nothing 
by  the  change  in  location.  The  silks,  laces, 
perfumes  and  wines  of  France  are  found 
in  its  shops — nothing  but  French  is  spoken 
on  the  streets,  while  the  people  are  imbued 
with  those  polite  manners  so  charming  to 
the  senses  of  a  foreigner. 

Many  years  ago  when  sugar  was  king 
and  when  to  own  a  plantation  was  to  have  a 
fortune,  St.  Pierre  was  the  abode  of  wealth 
and  luxury.  The  planters  often  had  as  many 
as  a  thousand  slaves  whose  labor  enabled 
their  masters  to  live  a  life  of  the  most  in- 
dolent pleasure.  All  that  has  passed;  cane- 
sugar  has  come  into  competition  with  beet- 
sugar,  the  slaves  are  free,  the  plantations 
heavily  mortgaged  and  the  growth  of  cane 
unprofitable. 

About  the  most  striking  building  in  St. 
Pierre  is  the  Catholic  cathedral.  Seen  from 
the  water  it  presents  a  beautiful  sight  with 

72 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


the  sun  reflected  from  its  many  spires  and 
towers.  When  the  chimes  ring  out  and  are 
echoed  back  from  the  cliffs  the  effect  is  very 
pleasant  to  the  ear,  especially  if  one  is  out 
on  the  bay.  The  people  of  Martinique  are 
good  catholics,  for  in  no  other  religion  can 
the  negro  find  the  pomp  and  pageantry 
which  so  gratifies  his  love  of  display  as  in 
the  ceremonials  of  Catholicism.  One  is  im- 
pressed by  the  numerous  shrines  and  images 
of  the  virgin  placed  in  sheltered  nooks  and 
grottos  by  the  wayside.  All  passers-by,  from 
the  ancient  negroes  tottering  to  market 
with  a  bunch  of  plantains,  to  the  fisher  boys 
making  their  rounds,  will  pause  before  these 
sacred  shrines  and  reverently  murmur  a 
prayer. 

When  the  tourist  tires  of  wandering 
through  the  narrow  streets  and  becomes 
wearied  of  eating  fruit  and  bon-bons  of 
freshly  made  chocolate  let  him  inquire  his 
way  to  the  Jardin  des  Plantes  and  spend  an 
hour  of  enjoyment  amid  its  arbors  of  palms 
and  aloes.  Here  are  to  be  found  shining 
lakes  and  splashing  fountains  shaded  by 
trees  of  endless  variety.  Cocoanut,  date, 
sago,  cabbage,  and  groo-groo  palms  are  on 
all  sides,  while  amid  their  branches  are 

73 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


thrust  those  of  the  mahogany,  rosewood, 
nutmeg,  clove,  banana  and  orange.  Aquatic 
plants  in  great  profusion  spread  their  broad 
leaves  on  the  bosom  of  the  lake — the  glori- 
ous Victoria  regia  side  by  side  with  the 
Egyptian  lotus,  while  both  are  surrounded 
by  a  perfect  galaxy  of  lilies. 

Perhaps  the  eye  may  rest  upon  a  mam- 
moth ceiba  and  following  the  gigantic  trunk 
skyward  until  the  mighty  coronal  is  reached, 
is  feasted  by  the  sight  of  an  aerial  garden 
nearly  a  hundred  feet  above  ground.  Clothed 
with  vines,  swarming  with  vegetable  para- 
sites, covered  with  orchids  of  fastastic  forms, 
one  sees  a  forest  within  a  single  tree — an 
aviary  of  brilliant  birds — a  home  for  count- 
less insects.  A  tall  and  stately  mile  tree 
stands  near  this  giant  and  its  graceful 
branches  seem  to  glean  protection  from  their 
towering  neighbor.  Before  lowering  the 
eyes  to  prosaic  earth  again  one  may  slightly 
turn  and  behold  the  form  of  Montague  Pe- 
lee  rearing  his  head  four  thousand  feet  amid 
the  clouds. 

Turning  into  the  garden  the  morning  after 
our  arrival  I  squared  myself  on  a  settee  and 
began  to  breathe  in  the  piquant  odor  of  the 
spice  trees. 

74 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


"If  monsieur  desire,  it  gives  me  much  of 
pleasure  to  bring  monsieur  a  lemonade  ga- 
zense." 

I  turn  quickly  and  behold  a  lad  of  ten 
gazing  expectantly  into  my  face.  The  only 
clothing  in  his  possession  consists  of  a  hat 
minus  the  crown  and  a  tolerably  well  pre- 
served vest  several  sizes  too  large  for  him. 

"Le  limonade  est  delightful  I  can  assure 
monsieur;  does  it  please  monsieur  for  to 
partake?" 

I  nod  my  head  and  his  little  black  legs 
carry  him  quickly  away,  whither  I  know 
not.  His  ebony  form  soon  re-appears,  how- 
ever, bearing  a  tray  nicely  poised  on  his 
woolly  head. 

"Would  monsieur  have  a  biscuit?  Was 
there  sufficient  of  ice  for  monsieur?" 

I  indicate  my  entire  satisfaction  with  the 
refreshment,  which  is  a  drink  manufactured 
in  St.  Pierre  and  made  of  fresh  limes,  sugar- 
cane juice,  and  carbonic  acid  water. 

"Did  monsieur  wish  to  buy  a  monkey,  a 
parrot  or  a  snake  skin?" 

"No !" 

"Well,  then,  monsieur  would  surely  de- 
sire  to  see  him  stand  on  his  head  on  the  back 
of  the  settee." 

75 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


I  glance  quickly  around  to  see  if  any  one 
is  near,  for  I  do  not  like  the  idea  of  figuring 
in  a  ridiculous  tableau  whereof  the  princi- 
pal feature  is  a  boy  standing  on  his  head  on 
the  back  of  a  settee  with  nothing  on  but  a 
vest.  However,  all  is  clear  and  I  signal  to 
go  ahead,  but  Jean's  vest  slips  down  over 
his  head,  he  loses  his  balance  and  a  perfect 
landslide  of  arms,  legs  and  vest  settles  plump 
into  the  tray. 

A  loud  laugh  follows  and  looking  around 
I  see  Major  Sellers  and  Brown  doubled  up 
on  a  neighboring  settee  in  convulsions  of 
mirth.  I  settle  with  Jean  for  two  francs 
and  it  costs  me  two  more  to  propitiate 
Brown  and  the  major. 

Luncheon  before  pleasure,  refreshment 
previous  to  exertion;  man  can  no  more  en- 
joy the  beauties  of  nature  on  an  empty 
stomach  than  he  can  be  cheerful  and  happy 
with  a  boil  on  the  back  of  his  neck — such 
were  the  sentiments  of  our  party  as  we  sat 
smoking,  in  front  of  the  hotel,  after  having 
lunched  a  la  francais  in  a  manner  to  satisfy 
the  most  fastidious  disciple  of  Epicurus. 
Jean  was  there  and  asked  les  messieurs  kind- 
ly to  permit  him  to  conduct  them  up  the 
mountain  side  to  le  fountaine  chaud  where 
messieurs  could  bathe. 
76 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Jean  was  better  clad  than  in  the  morning, 
for,  in  addition  to  his  voluminous  vest  and 
crownless  hat,  his  feet  were  incased  in  what, 
by  a  polite  stretch  of  the  imagination,  might 
be  called  shoes.  Each  shoe  gaped  at  the  toe 
like  the  mouth  of  a  Mississippi  catfish,  while 
Jean's  mouth,  probably  in  sympathy  with 
his  shoes,  gaped  also,  disclosing  a  cavity  of 
uncertain  depth  filled  with  the  whitest  of 
teeth. 

"As  for  me,"  said  the  major,  "I  am  in 
favor  of  following  Jean  and  taking  a  dip 
in  the  famous  fountain." 

"It  will  be  far  more  interesting  to  visit 
the  hospital  and  examine  the  cases  of  ele- 
phant leg  and  jaws,"  suggested  Mr.  Alum, 
the  microbe  man. 

A  ballot  was  taken  which  clearly  sup- 
ported the  major  and  relegated  Mr.  Alum 
and  his  morbid  proposal  to  the  background 
by  a  decided  majority.  Exactly  half  an 
hour  later  we  were  on  our  way  up  the  moun- 
tain, under  the  leadership  of  our  coffee-col- 
ored conductor.  As  we  passed  an  image  of 
the  Virgin,  embowered  by  a  profusion  of 
vines  and  blossoms,  Jean  reverently  mum- 
bled a  prayer. 

77 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 

"For  whom  do  you  pray,  Jean?"  I  asked. 

"I  solicit  the  good  mother  that  I  may  be 
able  to  kill  the  large  red  monkey  which  de- 
scends every  night  and  plucks  the  fruit  in 
grandmere's  yard,"  was  the  sober  answer. 

When  you  slip  into  the  clear  cool  water 
of  le  fountaine  chaud  your  impression  is 
that  you  are  floating  in  translucent  oil.  The 
waters  caress  and  soothe,  their  buoyancy 
supports  you,  every  ailment  and  pain  de- 
parts and,  as  you  lie  on  your  back  and  gaze 
at  the  trees  and  clouds,  you  wonder  if  Ponce 
de  Leon  in  all  his  vagaries  ever  imagined 
anything  like  this.  There  is  a  certain  vir- 
tue in  the  water  which  renders  the  skin  as 
soft  as  velvet,  and  seems  to  pluck  rheuma- 
tism out  by  the  roots.  There  is  plenty  of 
fun  and  frolic  this  afternoon  among  these 
old  gentlemen,  but  then  it  only  needs  the 
right  time  and  place  to  bring  out  the  humor 
in  a  man  whether  he  be  sixteen  or  sixty. 

We  are  almost  ready  to  depart  when  there 
is  a  sudden  yell,  the  element  is  upheaved 
and  the  attenuated  form  of  Fairwater 
emerges  precipitately  from  the  water  with 
a  crab  clinging  to  his  big  toe.  That  settles 
it;  we  all  scramble  out  and  are  soon  roll- 

78 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


ing  along  toward  the  hotel  to  prepare  for 
dinner. 

The  Empress  Josephine  was  born  in  the 
little  village  of  Forte  de  France,  situated 
twelve  miles  from  St.  Pierre.  The  cabin 
where  she  first  saw  the  light  still  stands, 
in  spite  of  numerous  earthquakes  which 
have  left  it  in  a  somewhat  dilapidated  con- 
dition. On  account  of  a  fire  which  destroyed 
the  country  mansion  of  Monsieur  de  la  Pa- 
gerie,  he  and  his  family  were  forced  to  seek 
shelter  in  this  lowly  cabin  and  here  Jose- 
phine was  born. 

We  were  extremely  fortunate  in  making 
the  acquaintance  of  a  fellow-traveler  then 
residing  on  the  island  of  Trinidad,  whose 
father  had  lived  at  Fort  de  France  in  the 
time  of  Josephine.  Monsieur  Grandsaull 
was  perfectly  familiar  with  the  history  of 
the  empress  and  to  his  entertaining  anec- 
dotes and  reminiscences,  our  party  owes  one 
of  its  most  enjoyable  days. 

Seated  in  the  bateau,  which  was  to  con- 
vey us  to  Fort  de  France,  I  gave  myself 
up  to  the  enjoyments  of  the  hour  and  set- 
tled comfortably  back  in  the  shade  cast  by 
the  mainsail  ready  to  listen  to  a  poem  by 
Miss  Gush,  a  dissertation  on  microbes  by 

79 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Alum  or  more  preferably  the  descriptive 
chat  of  Monsieur  Grandsaull. 

Sailing  along  this  stretch  of  shore  was 
truly  delightful.  At  times  the  boat  would 
pass  beetling  crags  rising  almost  perpendic- 
ularly from  the  water;  then  the  cliffs  would 
suddenly  slope,  disclosing  a  pebbly  beach 
lined  with  orchards  of  cocoa  and  palm  trees. 
Occasionally,  could  be  seen  an  image  of  the 
Virgin,  placed  in  a  sheltered  nook  far  up 
the  mountain,  or  perhaps  the  chime  of  a 
parish  bell  would  echo  lazily  across  the 
water  from  a  sleepy  hamlet. 

"Let  me  call  your  attention,"  said  Mon- 
sieur Grandsaull,  "to  that  massive  rock  ris- 
ing abruptly  from  the  water  directly  ahead 
of  us.  That  is  Diamond  Rock,  four-hundred 
feet  high  and  a  half-mile  in  circumference. 
In  1804  Admiral  Hood  of  the  British  Navy 
by  almost  superhuman  exertions  succeeded 
in  getting  five  cannon  to  its  top  by  means 
of  hawsers.  The  following  morning  his 
ships  were  discovered  and  driven  away,  but 
not  before  the  gallant  admiral  had  stationed 
on  the  summit  a  garrison  of  one  hundred 
and  twenty  men  provisioned  for  four 
months. 

"During  the  following  war  this  rock,  which 

80 


LITTLE    PHILOSOPHIES 


became  known  as  his  majesty's  ship  Dia- 
mond Rock,  proved  a  source  of  the  utmost 
annoyance  to  the  French,  who  struggled  in 
vain  to  dislodge  their  foes.  By  the  treaty, 
which  closed  the  war,  the  English  relin- 
quished Martinique  and  retired  from  their 
point  of  vantage,  thus  ending  one  of  the 
most  daring  exploits  known  to  West  Indies 
history." 

Having  sailed  up  the  broad  bay,  we  ap- 
proached the  Trois  Islands,  landed  and  be- 
gan our  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  one 
whose  extravagant  life  would  not  seem  to 
justify  the  unlimited  praise  bestowed  upon 
her  by  enthusiastic  historians. 

There  is  ground  for  the  belief  that  Mon- 
sieur Talleyrand  was  right  in  his  aspersions 
of  her  character,  but  the  public  demands 
unstinted  praise  for  its  idols,  and  historians 
must  conform  to  public  opinion  or  sink  into 
oblivion. 

Jacob  Abbot,  in  his  life  of  the  empress, 
was  sadly  confused  as  to  dates  and  other 
items,  for  he  solemnly  states  that  Jose- 
phine's mother  died  shortly  after  the  little 
child  was  born,  showing  conclusively  that 
he  had  never  visited  Fort  de  France  or  seen 
the  tombstone  in  the  church-yard.  We  vis- 

81 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


ited  the  marble  statue  of  the  empress  which 
stands  in  the  public  square,  and  then  were 
driven  to  the  little  cabin  clothed  in  vines 
and  surrounded  by  waving  palms.  The 
humble  church  was  next  visited  where  Jo- 
sephine and  her  mother  came  to  worship. 

"In  this  church,"  said  Monsieur  Grand- 
saull,  as  we  stood  gazing  curiously  at  the 
burning  candles  the  virgin  and  holy  basins, 
"in  this  pew  my  father  first  learned  his 
prayers  at  the  feet  of  Madame  de  la  Pagerie 
who  taught  her  little  daughter  at  the  same 
time." 

This  was  too  much  for  Miss  Gush.  Her 
poetical  soul  was  moved,  her  higher  emo- 
tions were  touched  and  she  wept  copiously, 
sighed  deeply  and  talked  affectedly.  I  had 
been  feeling  a  little  impressed  myself,  but 
my  sensations  were  swept  away  by  disgust 
and  I  went  outside,  bought  a  piece  of  sugar- 
cane for  a  cent  and  irreverently  covered  the 
pontifical  vestibule  with  its  splinters. 

We  returned  to  St.  Pierre  that  evening 
by  moonlight  and  to  say  we  enjoyed  the 
night  would  but  feebly  express  our  appre- 
ciation of  the  time  and  place.  The  memory 
of  Monsieur  Grandsaull  was  replete  with 
legends  and  memories  of  slavery  days  and 

82 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


we  received  the  full  benefit  of  his  thoughts. 

Next  morning  we  were  to  sail  for  Bar- 
bados and  I  arose  early  to  pass  a  brief  hour 
on  the  streets  of  St.  Pierre. 

Almost  every  one  will  remember  an  ac- 
count in  the  papers  of  the  terrible  hurri- 
cane which  devastated  Martinique  in  1891, 
in  which  so  many  lives  were  lost  and  so 
much  property  destroyed.  My  walk  led  me 
through  a  part  of  the  city  which  had  re- 
ceived the  full  violence  of  the  wind.  The 
majority  of  the  houses  were  badly  shaken, 
with  roofs  gone  and  walls  badly  battered, 
while  many  were  in  ruins.  Trees  of  all 
kinds  were  broken  and  twisted,  while  heavy 
pieces  of  wreckage,  strewn  about,  gave  evi- 
dence of  the  power  of  the  gale.  Fully  forty 
vessels  of  various  sizes  and  countries  were 
blown  ashore  and  their  bones,  bleaching  on 
the  beach,  presented  an  almost  human  and 
rather  melancholy  spectacle.  In  a  few 
months  their  old  scars  will  be  covered  with 
a  mass  of  vegetation  and  the  hurried  decay 
of  the  tropics  will  have  concealed  all  traces 
of  a  storm  in  which  perished  six  hundred 
people. 

Passing  one  of  les  petit  magazines  my  at- 
tention was  attracted  by  snake  skins  dis- 

83 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


played  in  the  window.  They  were  those  of 
the  fer  de  lance,  the  deadly  serpent  of  Mar- 
tinique. These  venomous  creatures  are 
found  only  on  the  islands  of  Martinique  and 
St.  Lucia,  a  peculiarity  for  which  the  peo- 
ple of  the  other  islands  are  very  thankful. 
Hundreds  of  negroes  are  destroyed  annual- 
ly by  the  pests,  for  they  rather  seek  than 
avoid  man,  and  one  takes  his  life  in  his 
hands  while  going  through  a  cane-field  or 
jungle.  Frederick  A.  Ober,  whom  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  at  Martinique,  describes 
an  encounter  with  the  fer  de  lance  in  his 
delightful  book  "Camps  In  The  Caribbees." 
Mr.  Ober's  book  should  be  well  thumbed 
by  all  tourists  intending  West  Indies  travel, 
for  it  is  without  doubt  the  best  description 
of  the  Caribbee  Islands  yet  written.  Think- 
ing to  examine  more  closely  these  little  rep- 
tiles, I  entered  the  shop  and  was  glad  I  did 
for  the  proprietress  was  a  typical  Marti- 
nique belle.  Her  rounded  figure  was  load- 
ed with  gold  and  silver  ornaments  of  every 
description  and  pattern.  Like  Tarpeia,  she 
was  crushed  under  a  weight  of  jewels. 

Martinique  women  of  color  have  ideas  of 
the  fashions,  peculiarly  their  own.  They 
must  have  a  hand-painted  bandana,  general- 

84 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


ly  yellow,  and  their  jewelry  must  be  of  the 
purest  metal;  they  would  scorn  brass  or 
plated  ware.  Besides  this  the  dress  must  be 
caught  up  at  the  side,  disclosing  -a  well 
trimmed  ankle,  au  natural,  while  one  arm 
and  shoulder  are  exposed,  Grecian  style.  A 
West  Indies  woman  always  walks  graceful- 
ly and  straight,  for  she  generally  goes  bare- 
footed, as  nature  intended  her  to  do,  and  her 
head  carries  whatever  burden  she  has,  be 
it  a  bushel  of  yams  or  a  bunch  of  tooth- 
picks. 

"What  did  Monsieur  desire  ce  matin, 
would  it  be  un  sachet  ou  un  mouchier  de 
lin?" 

Giving  her  to  understand  that  it  was  only 
her  bright  eyes  that  had  lured  me,  I  seated 
myself  and  awaited  the  effect  of  my  "bit 
o'  blarney."  A  dusky  blush  overspread  her 
face  and  thereafter  I  received  the  most  as- 
siduous attention.  Fact,  when  I  arose  to 
go,  many  curious  articles  were  in  my  pos- 
session— bits  of  pink  coral,  worth  their 
weight  in  gold,  shells,  pieces  of  lace,  and 
above  all,  a  curious  little  bracelet  of  Hindu 
workmanship  which  I  unclasped  from  her 
wrist,  for  a  consideration. 

The  whistles  of  the  Alliance  now  began 
85 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


to  sound  and  with  an  "au  revoir,"  I  hur- 
riedly departed  for  the  hotel  to  prepare  for 
embarking.  All  were  in  readiness  so  we 
drove  to  the  wharf  and  were  soon  leaving 
that  loveliest  of  all  the  lovely  islands  which, 
in  the  words  of  Froude,  "lie  like  a  string  of 
jewels  round  the  neck  of  the  beautiful  Car- 
ibbean." As  the  glistening  spires  of  St. 
Pierre  melted  in  the  distance  I  hoped  that 
this  would  not  be  my  last  visit  to  Marti- 
nique, and  that  one  day  I  should  return  to 
pass  a  few  weeks  of  restful  enjoyment  in 
this  quaint  old  West  Indian  town. 

The  people  of  Martinique  have  a  super- 
stition that  if  the  traveler  once  sets  foot  on 
the  shores  of  their  island  no  matter  where 
he  may  go  thereafter  or  in  what  clime  he 
may  be  he  will  return  and  end  his  days  in 
what  they  rightly  term  "the  earthly  para- 
dise." May  the  fates  so  ordain  with  me. 

But  let  us  turn  the  other  way  while  ex- 
pectation banishes  regret,  for  we  are  bound 
straight  across  the  broad  Atlantic  toward 
the  shores  of  Africa,  not  that  we  shall  ever 
reach  those  shores,  for  right  in  our  way  lies 
that  charming  little  spot  of  land  known  as 
Barbados  and  irreverently  dubbed  the  "pan- 
cake island." 

86 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Bardados,  being  a  coral  island,  is  very  low 
and,  to  quote  one  of  the  officers,  "you  can't 
see  it  till  you're  most  aboard  of  it."  That 
afternoon,  as  we  stood  on  the  vessel's  bow, 
a  bright  ribbon  of  green  suddenly  appeared 
on  the  horizon.  It  widened  and  brightened 
until  it  seemed  almost  to  leap  from  its  bed 
in  the  amethyst  sea  to  give  us  a  welcome 
greeting.  Stately  palms  and  other  trees  be- 
gan to  separate  themselves  from  their  emer- 
ald setting  until  the  whole  island  rested  be- 
fore us,  presenting  a  view  to  ravish  the 
heart  of  Robinson  Crusoe  or  Bernardin  de 
St.  Pierre.  As  the  Alliance  swept  gracefully 
around,  seeking  her  anchorage  in  the  local 
roadstead,  our  eyes  were  busy  with  a  hun- 
dred objects  of  interest.  Little  houses,  built 
of  dazzling  white  coral,  dotted  the  undulat- 
ing fields  of  cane,  looking  like  pearls  in  an 
emerald  setting.  Lofty  cocoanuts  flung 
their  coronals  out  from  the  shore  as  if  pro- 
tecting the  white  waves  of  surf  rushing  tu- 
multuously  toward  their  feet. 

Coming  out  to  meet  us  from  the  wharf, 
were  scores  of  bum-boat,  fruit  boats  and 
canoes  containing  diving  boys.  Occasional- 
ly, in  their  mad  rush  for  first  place,  a  boat 
would  capsize,  leaving  its  owner  flounder- 

87 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


ing  in  the  water  amid  the  jeers  of  his  com- 
rades. He  would  soon  dive  below,  however, 
and,  righting  his  boat  with  a  dexterous 
movement,  eagerly  take  up  the  pursuit.  To 
right  and  left  were  vessels  of  all  nationali- 
ties— Chinese  junks  with  high  peak  and  bow, 
laden  with  rice,  Norwegian,  Swedish  and 
American  lumber  vessels,  schooners  and 
sloops  from  Demarara  and  Trinidad,  and 
British  tramp  steamers  loading  with  sugar, 
while  conspicuous  among  the  others  floated 
several  men  of  war  with  spotless  sails  and 
shining  brass-work. 

As  I  gazed  around  I  could  not  help  liken- 
ing this  little  island  to  a  hive  of  bees,  so 
thick  were  the  cabins  on  its  hills;  in  fact 
Barbados  is  the  most  densely  inhabited  spot 
of  land  on  earth.  Only  twenty-one  by  four- 
teen miles,  it  supports  a  population  of  one- 
hundred  and  ninety  thousand,  which  is  more 
for  its  area  than  any  particular  spot  in  China. 
Lying  about  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
northeast  of  the  Orinoco  River,  and  to  wind- 
ward of  all  the  other  islands,  the  trade  winds 
sweep  over  its  coralline  shores,  bringing 
health  and  coolness  in  its  wake.  With  a 
temperature  that  never  goes  above  eighty- 
six  degrees  or  below  seventy-seven,  sum- 

88 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


mer  or  winter,  night  or  day,  Barbados  bold- 
ly claims  the  most  even  temperature  in  the 
world,  and  if  any  one  is  curious  enough  to 
examine  a  common  school  globe  he  will  find 
that  the  isothermal  lines  for  summer  and 
winter  meet  in  its  vicinity.  The  name  Bar- 
bados comes  from  the  Portuguese  who  dis- 
covered the  island  and  is  evidently  a  corrup- 
tion of  Las  Barbados,  the  bearded,  from  the 
fact  that  so  many  of  its  trees  have  long  mat- 
ted roots  hanging  from  their  branches. 

But  lest  this  bit  of  prolixity  should  tire 
you  let  us  walk  to  the  other  side  of  the  ves- 
sel where  Major  Sellers  and  his  satellites 
are  amusing  themselves  by  tossing  coins  in- 
to the  water  for  the  diving  boys.  Shades  of 
Thetus  and  the  water  nymphs,  what  a  ri- 
diculous spectacle !  For  we  are  just  in  time 
to  see  two  dozen  black  legs  waving  franti- 
cally in  the  air  while  a  dozen  woolly  heads 
go  down  in  a  wild,  indiscriminate  scramble 
for  a  well-thrown  penny.  Up  they  come, 
eyes  wide  open,  every  feature  and  motion 
plainly  seen  in  the  crystalline  water.  With 
a  careless  flip  of  the  head,  to  free  the  eyes 
from  water,  first  one,  then  another  black 
boy  rises  to  the  surface,  eagerly  solicitous 
for  coppers.  Amid  a  general  scuffle  and  up- 

89 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


roarious  merriment,  they  stand  treading 
water,  keenly  on  the  alert,  black  eyes  snap- 
ping, and  legs  and  arms  going  like  a  turtle's 
flippers. 

"Now,"  said  the  major,  "every  boy  be 
ready  and  when  I  give  the  word,  down  you 
go,  dive  under  the  vessel's  keel  and  the  first 
one  up  on  the  other  side  gets  a  sixpence." 

Instantly,  there  is  a  prodigious  splash- 
ing as  each  boy  raises  himself  from  the 
water  and  plunges  beneath.  Down!  down! 
they  go,  squirming  and  wriggling,  their  bod- 
ies assuming  a  vivid  green  color  until  they 
disappear  under  the  vessel  nearly  thirty-five 
feet  below.  We  hurriedly  rush  to  the  other 
side  and  are  just  in  time  to  see  a  slender 
little  darkey  mounting  to  the  surface  with  a 
dozen  others  in  hot  pursuit.  With  a  pro- 
longed snort  and  a  deep  inspiration,  the  vic- 
tor breaks  water,  deftly  catches  his  silver, 
throws  himself  on  his  back  and  lies  like 
a  log,  his  eyes  glistening  triumphantly  at 
his  less  fortunate  companions.  Then  begins 
an  exhibition  of  expert  swimming,  such  as 
is  never  witnessed  outside  the  tropics.  One 
little  fellow,  with  a  preternaturally  big  head, 
would  dive  to  the  bottom  and,  lying  on  his 
back  amid  the  white  coral,  go  through  all 

90 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


sorts  of  grotesque  movements  until  Fair- 
water  shook  like  a  jelly  tart  in  an  earth- 
quake. Others  would  have  diving  and  swim- 
ming matches  or  righted  their  frail  canoes 
with  great  dexterity.  Guiltless  of  clothing, 
these  diving  boys  pass  the  majority  of  their 
time  in  the  water,  swimming  from  ship  to 
ship  in  search  of  coppers,  regardless  of 
sharks  or  barracudas.  If  a  hawser  becomes 
entangled  in  the  screw  a  diver  is  sent  below 
with  a  sharp  knife  and,  presto!  it  is  cut. 
If  an  anchor  becomes  fouled  at  the  bottom, 
down  goes  a  diver  and  clears  it.  It  is  even 
asserted  that  they  will  take  a  hammer  and 
nails  and  patch  up  the  copper  sheating  on  a 
ship's  bottom. 

But  now  for  the  shore.  I  see  a  chubby 
looking  darkey  beckoning  to  me  as  if  in- 
viting my  perusal  of  his  boat,  which  is  dig- 
nified by  the  title  of  "Queen  Victoria." 
Never  having  been  in  her  august  presence 
before,  I  am  somewhat  abashed,  but  sum- 
moning courage  I  gather  my  impedimenta, 
descend  the  landing  stage  and  am  soon 
speeding  away  toward  Bridgetown.  After 
her  majesty's  custom  officials  examine  my 
gripsack  to  learn  if  there  are  any  gatling 
guns,  Habana  cigars  or  Kentucky  bourbon 

91 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


concealed  therein,  they  politely  inform  me 
that  I  am  at  liberty,  so  I  engage  a  cab  and 
am  soon  on  my  way  to  the  Marine  Hotel, 
two  miles  east  of  town. 

The  first  drive  through  any  West  Indies 
town,  after  a  sea  journey,  is  truly  delightful, 
but  a  drive  through  the  shady  streets  of 
Barbados  in  similar  circumstances  is  an  ex- 
perience not  to  be  forgotten.  The  salty 
smelling  breezes  of  the  ocean  give  place  to 
an  atmosphere  laden  with  the  fragrance  of 
bananas,  oranges,  limes,  lemons,  and  a  mul- 
titude of  flowers,  while  one  can  detect  the 
aromatic  odor  of  spices  blending  with  the 
rest.  The  loneliness  of  the  deep  is  ex- 
changed for  noises  of  a  tropical  garden  teem- 
ing with  bird  and  insect  life,  alive  with  the 
rustle  of  palm  leaf  and  the  shrill  whistling 
of  the  mile  tree. 

Perhaps  in  your  drive  along  the  white 
coral  roads  you  may  pass  beneath  the  arch 
of  a  double  row  of  cabbage  palms,  with 
bunchy  heads  poised  high  above.  Anon  a 
banana  leaf  brushes  against  the  carriage  side 
and  you  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  golden  fruit 
hiding  beneath  its  broad,  green  covering. 
Suddenly  a  cocoanut  tree  towers  for  sixty 
feet  above  your  head  and  you  see  its  bunches 

92 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


of  fruit  ranging  in  size  from  the  little  mon- 
key heads,  no  larger  than  eggs,  to  the  huge 
article  of  commerce,  as  large  as  a  pail.  At 
every  turn  one  is  greeted  by  trees  of  mahog- 
any, rosewood  and  ironwood,  while  the  pois- 
onous machineel  and  the  gnarled,  bearded 
banyan  stand  side  by  side.  Look  at  that 
flowering  maple  with  the  white  lily  twin- 
ing around  its  trunk — a  dozen  humming 
birds  are  there  taking  their  last  sip  of  nectar 
before  the  night.  From  those  aloes  bend- 
ing in  the  breeze  to  your  right  comes  the 
high  falsetto  of  a  parrot,  saying,  "Won't 
you  stop?  Won't  you  stop?"  You  decline 
the  invitation  and  continue  along  the  road 
past  Lord  Nelson's  statue,  across  the  grassy 
plaza,  past  the  red  brick  barracks  circling 
in  and  out  among  the  trees.  The  dull  boom- 
ing of  the  surf  is  constantly  in  your  ears, 
and  once  you  catch  a  glimpse  of  its  white 
froth  beneath  a  dense  green  arch  of  bread 
and  fruit  trees.  An  almond  tree  drops  a 
beautiful  pink  blossom  in  your  lap  as  you 
brush  past,  and  you  roll  up  to  the  hotel  steps 
with  the  delightful  knowledge  that  you  are 
going  to  enjoy  yourself. 

Next  morning  my  slumbers  are  disturbed 
by  a  continued  chattering  without.     Walk- 

93 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


ing  to  the  window  I  discover  the  cause  of 
the  disturbance  in  the  shape  of  three  mon- 
keys sitting  astride  of  three  boxes,  perched 
on  as  many  poles,  each  monkey  being  at- 
tached to  his  box  by  a  chain.  The  familiar 
childish  rhyme, 

Monkey,  monkey,  bottle  of  beer, 
How  many  monkeys  are  there  here? 

One,  two,  three 

Out  goes  he. 

occurs  to  me.  I  throw  each  monkey  a  ba- 
nana, which  tokens  of  propitiation  they  seize 
and  devour  greedily. 

While  watching  their  little  wrinkled  heads 
wag  with  contentment,  it  never  occurs  to 
me  that  I  am  to  be  the  victim  of  a  man's 
resentment  through  one  of  them.  There 
are  supreme  moments  in  a  man's  life  when 
events  are  approaching  which  are  to  cause 
him  much  trouble.  How  was  I  to  know  that 
Mr.  Pomeroy,  the  genial  proprietor  of  the 
Marine  Hotel,  would  take  such  a  dislike  to 
me  as  to  present  me  with  that  ring-tailed 
specimen  of  anthropoid  imbecility  attached 
to  the  farthest  pole.  Now  that  I  am  home 
and  all  is  over,  I  can  give  the  main  details 
of  the  case  with  a  tolerable  degree  of  calm- 
ness. 

94 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Ju-ju  (for  that  was  his  name)  far  eclipsed 
the  performances  of  Major  Sellers'  animal, 
as  the  subjoined  itemized  account  will  show : 

To  crockery  broken  in  stateroom  on  voy- 
age     $        2.25 

To  anxiety,  distress  of  mind  and  mental 

excitement    1,000.00 

To  lady's  shawl  torn  in  pieces  on  voyage.         12.00 
To    damage    to    room    flooded    in    Astor 
House,  New  York,  by  monkey  turning 

on  water  faucet   10.00 

To  biting  a  sailor's  hand  on  board 1.00 

To  chains,  cages  and  so  forth 5.25 

To  porters,  baggagemen  and  others 4.50 

Total $1,035.00 

Not  having  any  man  in  view  against 
whom  I  held  an  inveterate  animosity,  I 
turned  Ju-ju  over  to  the  Lincoln  Park  com- 
missioners in  Chicago.  In  visiting  the  park 
if  any  one  should  so  desire,  let  him  enter 
the  monkey  headquarters  and  ask  for  Ju-ju, 
but  keep  clear  of  the  cage  and  take  no  liber- 
ties, for  you  know  his  character. 

But  not  to  digress  too  far  or  anticipate 
subsequent  events,  let  us  descend  to  the 
dining  hall  and  see  what  new  or  curious 
dishes  are  to  be  found  on  a  West  Indian 
bill  of  fare.  Glancing  at  the  carte  we  call 
for  "cassava  cakes"  made  of  the  much  read 

95 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


of  cassava  root  whose  fibers  are  only  purged 
of  their  poisonous  qualities  by  much  beat- 
ing and  rinsing.  Made  into  a  thin,  brittle 
pancake,  as  white  as  snow,  they  lie  before 
one  in  tempting  array  as  if  inviting  further 
inspection  of  their  merits. 

From  the  dish  containing  various  tropical 
products,  you  select  an  egg-shaped  fruit  of 
a  dingy  purple,  known  as  the  avocado  pear, 
alligator  pear  or  midshipman's  butter.  The 
alligator  pear  is  more  of  a  vegetable  than  a 
fruit  and  its  pasty  interior  has  neither  taste 
nor  sweetness  to  one  unaccustomed  to  its 
use.  Persistent  trials  of  its  virtues,  how- 
ever, create  a  liking  for  it.  It  is  eaten  with 
salt  and  pepper.  The  bread  fruit  looks  like 
a  huge  osage  orange  and  is  baked  whole, 
like  a  potato.  It  has  a  flavor  resembling  both 
the  potato  and  bread.  There  are  several 
kinds  of  yams,  the  commonest  variety  be- 
ing the  big  black  yam,  which  grows  to  enor- 
mous size  and  tastes  not  unlike  the  Ir- 
ish potato.  You  will  also  find  a  dish  called 
koo-koo,  made  of  guinea  corn  and  a  variety 
of  beans,  while  arrow  root  frequently  is 
made  into  cakes  and  puddings. 

Let  us  not  forget  to  taste  the  flying-fish; 
the  juicy,  dainty  little  flying-fish;  the  fish 

96 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


whereof  Mrs.  Brown  remarked :  "I  feel  like 
a  criminal  every  time  I  eat  one."  If  I  felt 
the  same  way  my  conscience  would  be 
haunted  by  a  perfect  nightmare  of  ghostly 
flying-fish  carcasses. 

The  next  item  on  the  menu  revives  the 
remembrance  of  Mayne  Reid's  and  Kings- 
ton's juvenile  stories.  It  is  baked  iguana 
lizard — that  warty  sluggish  creature  so  often 
described  as  being  caught  by  a  slip-noose 
while  listening  to  the  whistling  of  its  cap- 
tor. To  one  who  has  eaten  oysters,  frog 
legs,  bear  meat  and  "possum,"  the  savory 
flesh  of  this  animal  seems  very  palatable, 
regardless  of  the  fact  that  it  comes  from  a 
lizard,  five  feet  in  length.  While  dealing 
with  these  so-called  epicurean  horribles  let 
me  state  that  one  can  get  a  monkey  ragout 
by  asking  for  it,  but  of  course  this  is  a  se- 
cret, between  you  and  me.  Also,  that  the 
people  in  several  of  the  islands  seek  dili- 
gently in  the  groo-groo  palm  for  a  big  white 
grub,  which,  being  fried  to  a  delicate  brown, 
they  place  before  you  as  one  of  their  choic- 
est dainties.  They  are  very  fine  eating — 
so  I  am  told.  In  the  island  of  St.  Vincent, 
I  was  treated  to  a  nice  stew  of  whale's 
meat,  which,  owing  to  its  low  price  of  three 

97 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


cents  a  pound,  forms  a  staple  article  of  diet 
with  the  natives.  I  cannot  say  that  I  like 
it.  I  am  content  to  let  the  whale  swallow 
Jonah,  but  not  to  reverse  the  process. 

To  close  this  chapter  of  gastronomic  pe- 
culiarities, let  me  mention  the  pepper-pot. 
The  pepper-pot  is  an  earthenware  jar  placed 
upon  the  sideboard  of  every  well  regulated 
West  Indian  house  containing  a  mixture 
which  you  are  free  to  sample  at  all  times 
of  the  day.  Near  of  kin  to  the  tamale  and 
distantly  related  to  the  bologna  sausage,  it 
possesses  the  qualities  of  both  united  in  an 
harmonious  manner.  After  each  repast  the 
cold  scraps  of  meat  are  taken  from  the  plat- 
ter and  thrown  into  the  pepper-pot,  no  mat- 
ter what  manner  of  flesh,  fish  or  fowl  they 
may  be.  At  intervals,  a  few  red-peppers,  a 
sprinkle  of  cassareipe  and  other  ingredients 
are  added.  The  jar  is  never  emptied  or 
washed  from  one  year's  end  to  another,  its 
contents  being  perfectly  preserved  by  the 
peppers  and  cassareipe.  When  you  som- 
mon  courage  enough  to  investigate  its  mys- 
teries, you  seize  a  long  fork  and  make  a  wild, 
reckless  dive  into  its  interior.  Perhaps  you 
may  appear  at  the  surface  with  a  duck's  leg, 
a  bit  of  bacon,  or  a  piece  of  lizard,  which 

98 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


you  hastily  swallow.  Following  this  excit- 
ing episode  a  little  Angostura  bitters  will 
be  necessary  to  take  the  taste  out  of  your 
mouth,  which  action  is  perfectly  proper  and 
excusable. 

After  breakfast  it  is  customary  to  take 
a  walk  before  the  sun's  rays  becomes  too 
powerful;  so  if  you  will  don  your  white 
suit,  white  shoes,  white  panama  hat,  and 
take  your  white  umbrella  with  a  green  lin- 
ing, we  will  saunter  along  down  this  lane 
of  manchineel  trees  to  the  beach.  A  half- 
dozen  little  darkies  follow  us  dressed  in 
every  variety  of  costume,  from  a  pair  of 
slippers  to  a  paper  collar.  Two  or  three  beg- 
gars are  met  who  solicit  alms,  in  fact  one 
is  constantly  beset  by  beggars  in  Barbados, 
until  he  rises  in  his  wrath  and  drives  them 
away.  We  get  rid  of  our  entire  following 
by  the  judicious  distribution  of  a  few  half- 
pence and  continue  along  the  road. 

The  streets  and  country  roads  of  Barba- 
dos are  models  of  what  streets  and  roads 
should  be.  Mudless,  dustless  and  clean; 
they  are  cut  out  of  the  solid  coral  rock 
and  intersect  the  land  in  every  direction 
like  ribbons  of  spotless  white  on  an  ever- 
green background. 

99 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Presently  we  encounter  sheep — but  alas, 
we  should  never  recognize  them  as  the  big 
balls  of  wool  so  common  in  the  states. 
Their  fluffy  coats  have  almost  dropped  off, 
only  a  bunch  of  wool  remaining  here  and 
there  to  show  what  might  have  been  their 
former  beauty.  Poor,  scrawny  woollers, 
mangy  ewes,  the  tropical  heat  has  played 
you  a  sore  trick,  and  thus  you  stand  shorn 
of  your  majesty,  fit  only  for  mutton.  Truly, 
"God  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb." 

Here  a  man  approaches  with  a  huge  bas- 
ket of  fish  on  his  head.  We  stop  him  and 
gaze  curiously  at  his  morning's  catch.  Fish 
of  all  kinds  lie  neatly  arranged  in  his  bas- 
ket, covered  with  broad  green  leaves.  The 
leaves  are  removed  and  our  eyes  at  once 
dazzled  by  the  brilliant  colors  they  reflect. 
Red,  yellow,  blue,  green,  and  purple  fish, 
striped  and  spotted  with  variegated  colors. 
The  bream,  snapper,  grooper,  dolphin,  co- 
valle,  barber  mullet,  chub,  jack-fish,  barra- 
cuda, and  Spanish  mackerel  are  there,  while 
lobsters  of  uncouth  form,  sea  eggs  and  sea 
cats  lie  in  the  bottom  of  the  basket.  We 
present  the  fish  vender  with  a  pourboire, 
and  cut  across  a  small  savannah  under  grape 
and  gooseberry  trees  to  the  beach. 

100 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Grape  and  gooseberry  trees!  Who  ever 
heard  of  grapes  and  gooseberries  growing 
on  trees?  Nevertheless,  it  is  the  truth,  or 
close  to  it,  and  if  you  will  hurl  that  old  piece 
of  sugar  cane  up  into  the  tree  we  may  knock 
off  a  few.  The  missile  is  thrown  and  several 
round  bodies  come  rattling  down  which  not 
only  look  and  taste  like  a  grape  but  have 
seeds  like  a  grape,  so  we  are  satisfied, 
though  it  is  hard  to  think  of  an  upright, 
symmetrical  tree,  four  feet  in  circumference, 
as  bearing  grapes. 

Out  across  the  water  the  fishing  fleet  is 
just  visible  with  its  scores  of  tiny  sails  skim- 
ming hither  and  thither  on  the  swells,  busy 
with  line  and  net.  In  a  few  hours  they  will 
return  and  venders  will  carry  the  fish  all 
over  the  island,  selling  them  at  four  and 
sometimes  fifty  for  a  cent. 

Along  the  beach,  where  we  are  now  walk- 
ing, the  surf  has  just  retired  leaving  the 
white  coral  packed  smooth  and  hard.  Jag- 
ged masses  of  rock  coral  interrupt  our  pro- 
gress at  every  step  while  bits  of  brain  coral, 
branch,  glove  and  coronation  coral  lie 
strewn  about  in  great  profusion.  Shells  of 
rare  form  and  color  are  ofttimes  found  here 
but  the  most  perfect  specimens  are  out  un- 

101 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


der  water  where  they  will  have  to  be  sought 
for  by  divers. 

Many  bright  little  shells  of  various  colors 
can  be  picked  up,  however,  and  if  you  wish 
it,  the  natives  will  fashion  them  into  brooch- 
es, earrings,  necklaces  and  other  jewelry, 
which  they  are  so  skillful  in  making. 

Animal  life  is  very  numerous  along  the 
beach  and  one  is  continually  interested  by 
the  creatures  encountered.  There  is  the 
water  rat  that  skurries  up  the  cocoanut  tree 
to  his  nest.  He  has  a  fashion  of  eating  a 
hole  in  a  green  cocoanut  and  getting  inside, 
from  which  point  of  advantage  he  peeps 
saucily  out  as  if  calling  attention  to  his  big 
green  cradle.  Perhaps  he  shares  his  bunk 
with  a  green  lizard  or  two  while  the  land 
crab  is  likely  any  moment  to  amble  up  the 
tree  and  jump  his  claim.  There  is  another 
variety  of  crab  which  carries  its  eyes  on 
the  ends  of  a  pair  of  long  hair-like  feelers; 
there  it  waives  frantically  upon  your  ap- 
proach until  you  are  very  close  when  it 
rapidly  digs  a  hole  in  the  sand  and  vanishes, 
with  the  exception  of  its  eyes  which  peer 
through  the  sand  like  two  beads. 

Often,  a  little,  brown,  weasel-like  animal 
will  dart  across  the  sand  in  pursuit  of  a 

102 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


water  rat  or  a  kangaroo  mouse.  This  creat- 
ure is  the  mongoose,  famous  as  a  snake  and 
vermin  destroyer.  The  mongoose  was  in- 
troduced into  Barbados  from  India  to  kill 
the  vermin,  but  it  was  soon  found  that  not 
only  were  the  mice  and  rats  disappearing, 
but  the  chickens,  ducks  and  turkeys  along 
with  them,  so  the  government  has  abolish- 
ed the  laws  against  their  destruction.  Oc- 
casionally, one  finds  a  sea  cat  (a  species  of 
cuttle  fish)  lying  concealed  among  the  rocks 
ready  to  attach  its  powerful  suckers  to  the 
leg  of  an  unwary  bather.  Luminous  fish 
light  up  the  surf  at  night,  while  sea  eggs, 
sea  beetles,  spider  crabs,  sea  squirts  and  a 
host  of  queer  and  curious  animals  present 
an  ever  interesting  spectacle  to  the  observer. 
Presently  we  detect  the  odor  of  boiling 
syrup  on  the  air  and  finding  ourselves  in 
the  vicinity  of  a  sugar  mill,  we  determine 
to  visit  it.  The  cane  in  Barbados  is  pres- 
sed by  wind  power,  and  as  we  emerge  from 
a  clump  of  bamboos  we  behold  the  four  huge 
arms  of  the  mill  whirling  and  groaning  in 
the  trade  wind  in  a  manner  suggestive  of 
Don  Quixote's  demons.  The  mill  proper 
consists  of  a  circular  stone  structure  resem- 
bling the  old  Newport  mill.  The  long  arms 

103 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


turn  a  central  shaft  connecting  with  a  cog 
below  which  in  turn  revolves  the  huge  rol- 
lers. Between  these  the  cane  is  thrust,  the 
juice  running  through  a  pipe  into  the  boil- 
ing house,  where  it  is  received  by  the  first 
of  a  series  of  seven  pans.  Into  the  first  pan 
a  quantity  of  lime  is  thrown  which  precip- 
itates all  dirt  and  other  impurities.  The 
liquor  then  passes  from  pan  to  pan  until 
it  is  reduced  to  a  thick  syrup  when  it  is 
taken  out  and  placed  in  huge  wooden  vats 
to  cool  and  crystalize.  After  being  perfectly 
cooled  the  sugar  is  shoveled  into  hogsheads 
which  are  placed  over  shallow  pans  into 
which  the  drippings  of  molasses  falls.  The 
sugar  in  the  hogshead  is  called  raw  sugar 
and  is  shipped  to  the  states  where  it  is  re- 
fined. The  molasses,  if  it  is  nice  and  clean, 
is  also  sent  to  America,  but  if  it  be  dirty  and 
full  of  flies  it  is  distilled  into  rum  "sans 
ceremonie."  Life  about  a  sugar  mill  is  ex- 
ceedingly jolly  and  approaches  nearly  the 
colored  man's  idea  of  enjoyment  in  Para- 
dise. Here  he  can  work  in  gangs  while  the 
nature  of  his  labor  allows  him  time  to  chaff 
and  joke  with  his  comrades. 

At  intervals  through  the  day  a  small  black 
cloud  will  be  seen  approaching  which  always 

104 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


presages  a  puff  of  wind — then  the  entire 
force  of  men  and  women  seize  the  huge  rud- 
der and  with  rhythmical  chant  turn  the 
windmill  out  of  the  wind.  Such  an  operation 
was  taking  place  as  we  reached  the  mill 
and  we  respectfully  listened  to  this  song 
with  its  ceaseless  refrain: 

One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six  seben, 
Pans  full  ob  sugah!     Pans  full  ob  sugah! 
Better  be  good  if  you  wan  to  go  to  Heben. 
One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six,  seben, 
Pans  full  ob  sugar!    Pans  full  of  sugah! 

During  this  forced  cessation  of  labor,  the 
men  engaged  in  wrestling  and  other  sports, 
while  the  women  indulged  in  that  small 
gossip  so  dear  to  the  female  hearts,  whether 
black  or  white.  Then,  too,  the  concentrated 
essence  of  sweetness  is  constantly  on  tap, 
in  the  shape  of  molasses  and  other  sacchar- 
ines. These  are  taken  in  broken  doses  all 
day,  while  the  consumption  of  cane  is  sim- 
ply enormous. 

One  would  be  astonished  at  the  amount 
of  sugar  a  man,  who  has  been  trained  up  to 
the  business,  can  absorb  at  one  sitting.  It 
was  a  favorite  pastime  with  me,  while  in 
Barbados,  to  test  this  capacity  for  sugar. 
Whenever  a  beggar  asked  me  for  money  to 

105 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


purchase  eatables  I  would  conduct  him  to 
the  sugar  mill  and  proceed  to  experiment. 
The  greatest  success  I  experienced  was 
with  a  deceptive  looking,  fat  little  man, 
dressed  in  a  pair  of  pre-historic  overalls, 
with  coffee  sack  trimmings.  He  drank  a 
quart  of  molasses,  ate  a  generous  slice  of 
pan  sugar,  and  departed  chewing  a  cent's 
worth  of  cane.  I  admired  him  so  much  that 
I  called  him  back  and  gave  him  three  cents 
in  English  money  and  good  advice. 

While  we  were  in  the  vicinity  of  this 
sugar  mill,  which,  during  my  stay  in  Bar- 
bados, became  a  favorite  resort  of  mine, 
let  me  conduct  you  across  the  cane  field 
and  introduce  you  to  a  friend.  His  name 
is  Jack  and  he  is  generally  found  sitting 
on  the  branch  of  a  liquorice  tree  before  his 
owner's  home. 

One  day  in  my  rambles  I  was  passing 
this  tree  and  stooped  to  pick  up  one  of  its 
long,  black  pods,  when  suddenly  a  shrill 
voice  rang  out  above  me,  "Master,  Master! 
Some  one's  a  stealin',  stealin',  stealin'."  Be- 
ing thus  detected  in  the  act  of  theft,  I  glanc- 
ed hastily  up  and  behald  a  large,  brilliantly 
colored  macaw  wagging  his  head  in  a  most 
accusing  manner.  My  innocent  expression 

106 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


must  have  impressed  him,  however,  for  he 
said  "  howdy,"  and  scrambled  down  the 
tree.  Having  thoroughly  inspected  my  per- 
son he  commanded  me  to  "scratch,"  and 
held  out  his  big,  red  head  which  I  began  to 
ruffle.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  Jack  and 
I  became  great  cronies  and  passed  many  an 
hour  beneath  the  liquorice  tree. 

Another  friend  of  mine  is  a  green  parrot 
belonging  to  a  woman  on  Bay  street.  I  do 
not  wish  to  be  considered  one  of  those 

Brethren  of  our  joyful  choir; 
Twang!     O,  twang  the  tuneful  lyre, 

as  one  of  our  western  poets  puts  it.  I  am 
not  a  falsifier  and  truth  compels  me  to  give 
the  facts  concerning  the  green  parrot  in 
question.  One  day  the  parrot's  mistress 
became  involved  in  a  quarrel  with  a  woman 
who  peddled  potatoes,  in  which  several 
complimentary  remarks  were  passed.  After 
that  day,  whenever  the  parrot  espied  the 
woman,  he  would  derisively  yell,  "potatoes, 
rotten  potatoes!" 

Finally,  the  woman  became  so  angry  that 
she  entered  the  yard  with  avowed  purpose 
of  demolishing  "old  polly."  Her  actions 
were  interrupted,  however,  by  the  appear- 

107 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


ance  of  the  mistress,  who,  in  turn,  became 
the  object  of  her  wrath.  She  poured  forth 
such  a  flood  of  Barbardian  billingsgate  with 
such  distinctness  and  energy  that  every 
word  and  sentence  was  strongly  impressed 
on  frightened  Polly's  mind.  The  woman 
was  arrested  and  the  case  called  before  the 
judge  on  the  following  day.  There  were 
no  witnesses  of  the  scene  except  Polly  who 
did  most  awfully  swear  as  you  shall  see. 

Poll  was  brought  into  court  and  the  wo- 
man ordered  to  advance  toward  the  cage, 
when  such  a  torrent  of  blood-curdling  pro- 
fanity issued  from  Polly's  throat  that  the 
air  fairly  grew  sulphurous.  The  tones  and 
words  were  in  exact  imitation  of  the  wo- 
man's and  the  judge  immediately  fined  her. 
A  court-room  habitue  told  me  that  the 
judge,  jury  and  spectators  were  so  convulsed 
with  laughter  that  the  glass  chandelier  was 
shattered  by  the  vibrations,  but  this  may 
be  taken  "cum  grano." 

Society  in  Barbados  is  necessarily  Eng- 
lish and  one  is  taken  into  upper  tendom  im- 
mediately, if  his  credentials  and  appearance 
be  sufficiently  reassuring.  A  more  hospit- 
able and  generous  people  than  the  Barbados 
would  be  difficult  to  find  when  one  becomes 

108 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


acquainted  with  them.  To  be  sure  the  fash- 
ions are  a  month  in  arriving  and  one  cannot 
procure  the  exact  cut  on  his  clothes  that  a 
Bond  street  tailor  can  furnish,  but  good, 
English  cloth  is  plenty  good  and  a  tailor- 
made  suit  can  be  had  for  twelve  dollars  that 
would  cost  fifty  in  New  York. 

Wages  are  excessively  low  in  Barbados, 
common  field  hands  receiving  fifteen  cents 
a  day,  domestic  the  same,  skilled  mechanics 
fifty  cents  and  other  in  like  proportion.  For 
this  reason,  coupled  with  the  low  priced 
English  materials,  one  can  save  enough 
money  in  the  purchase  of  clothing,  shoes, 
hats,  etc.,  to  pay  his  passage  to  and  from 
New  York. 

Officers  of  the  garrison  are  favorites  and 
when  several  men-of-war  are  in  the  harbor 
parties,  balls  and  wine  suppers  follow  each 
other  in  rapid  succession. 

When  a  man  arrives  in  the  tropics  a  feel- 
ing of  lassitude  at  once  steals  over  him,  he 
becomes  languid  and  feels  the  need  of  stim- 
ulants. If  he  is  in  the  habit  of  drinking,  his 
ordinary  amount  is  speedily  doubled  and 
trebled.  This  increased  allowance  in  such 
a  climate  soon  tells  on  his  system,  he  takes 
typhoid,  brain  or  yellow  fever,  and  if  he  re- 

109 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


covers,  goes  home  execrating  the  West  In- 
dian climate.  It  is  thus  with  many  of  our 
naval  officers  who  rather  overdo  the  drink- 
ing business  at  most  of  their  points  of  stop- 
page. 

Every  day  twenty  or  thirty  common  sea- 
men are  permitted  to  go  ashore  from  a  man- 
of-war,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  an  hour  af- 
terward every  mother's  son  of  them  is  hope- 
lessly, hilariously  full  of  three-penny  kill- 
devil.  They  hire  carriages  and  drive  the 
horses  to  death;  they  get  donkeys  and  race 
up  and  down  the  streets;  they  whoop  and 
yell,  defy  the  police,  engage  in  brawls  and 
paint  the  town  a  rich  carmine  generally. 
One  who  has  witnessed  such  a  scene  is  prone 
to  think  that  the  late  Chilean  difficulty  might 
have  been,  if  not  actually,  provoked  by  a 
similar  occurrence. 

Horse  racing  is  the  sport  par  excellence 
in  Barbados,  and  at  the  spring  meeting  the 
savannah  is  thronged  with  a  good  natured 
crowd  of  happy  darkeys.  Bets  are  freely 
made,  from  the  poor  man's  penny  to  the  rich 
man's  pound,  while  the  unlimited  guzzling 
of  rum  precipitates  numerous  wool  pulling 
matches.  Ginger  beer,  cocoanut  cake  and 
comfit  venders  with  gay  turbans,  display 

110 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


their  wares  among  the  crowd,  while  tropical 
fruit,  rich  and  rare,  is  piled  in  shining  heaps 
upon  the  fruit  stalls. 

Polo  playing  on  horse  back  is  another 
sport  much  affected  by  Barbadians  and  a 
good  game  is  greatly  enjoyed  by  the  color- 
ed population,  especially  if  there  are  two  or 
three  accidents  to  give  zest  to  the  entertain- 
ment. The  boys  in  Barbados  are  experts 
at  kite  flying  and  it  is  doubtful  if  even  the 
Chinese  can  surpass  them  in  the  art.  Man- 
kites  and  animal-kites  are  easily  made  and 
flown,  while  "singing  angels,"  "roaring 
bulls,"  and  other  kites  which  make  a  noise, 
fill  the  air  with  their  booming.  In  the  sea- 
son kites  of  all  shapes,  sizes  and  colors  dot 
the  sky — night  kites  with  lanterns  dangling 
from  their  tails,  dragons  with  flaming  crests, 
kites  with  edged  glass  attached  to  them  in 
such  a  manner  that  the  owner  can  cut  the 
strings  of  a  rival  by  expert  manipulation. 
The  boys  are  also  skillful  in  making  blow- 
guns  of  bamboo  tops,  cane-fiddles,  small  fire- 
works and  other  toys. 

Christmas  day  is  the  holiday  of  all  holi- 
days in  Bunshire  (as  Barbados  is  jocularly 
nicknamed)  and  weeks  before  the  great 
event  the  people  begin  saving  their  slender 

111 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


earnings  for  a  grand  display.  Stores  of  gin- 
ger beer,  sorrel,  cocoanut  cakes,  red,  white 
and  blue  comfits  and  a  host  of  other  indi- 
gestibles  are  made  ready,  while  new  clothes 
are  purchased  and  the  small  boy  is  busy  in 
the  preparation  of  divers  bombs,  serpents 
and  other  combustibles. 

Christmas  day  is  ushered  in  by  a  noise 
and  turmoil  similar  to  that  which  announces 
our  Fourth  of  July.  Every  one  treats  every 
one  else;  sorrel  and  rum  flow  like  water, 
blood  ditto;  the  poor  man  indulges  in  a 
piece  of  pork  for  dinner  (a  rare  treat),  and 
a  merry  carnival  of  sport  and  pleasure  en- 
dures the  live-long  day.  Groups  of  cali- 
thumpians  in  grotesque  attire,  on  stilts,  on 
donkeys,  in  chariots,  parade  the  streets, 
while  bands  of  nerve-destroying  musicians 
keep  up  their  infernal  racket  from  morn  till 
night.  Swarms  of  little  darkies  in  various 
stages  of  deshabille,  hover  around  the  hotel 
piazzas  eager  to  engage  in  single  stick 
matches,  scrambles,  greased  hog  chases, 
donkey  races,  goat  races,  fool  races,  or  any 
kind  of  a  race  for  prizes  consisting  of  cigar 
stubs,  half  pence,  fruit,  and  so  forth. 

But  let  us  go  down  to  the  fruit  market 
near  Trafalgar  square  en  voiture  and  take 

112 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


a  peep  at  an  interesting  sight.  We  choose 
our  time  on  Christmas  eve,  after  dark,  else 
we  should  be  pelted  with  showers  of  roses, 
lilies  and  spice  blooms.  Our  driver  picks 
his  way  carefully  along  through  narrow 
streets,  past  gardens  brilliant  with  paper 
lanterns  and  flambeaux,  past  groups  of  mer- 
ry, happy,  singing  people,  until  we  reach  the 
market.  We  dismount  and  enter  the  open 
square  lined  and  crossed  by  rows  of  stalls. 
Buffoons,  jesters,  calithumpians,  musicians, 
stilt-walkers,  sailors,  all  are  mingled  in  a 
noisy  ,  clattering  throng.  The  flickering 
light  from  innumerable  lanterns  and  flam- 
beaux is  reflected  from  the  black  or  swarthy 
faces  around  us.  The  seven  colors  of  the 
rainbow  vie  with  each  other  in  profusion  in 
the  gay  headgear  and  fanciful  calico  of  les 
belles  Barbadian,  while  a  wealth  of  beaten 
silver  jewelry  ornaments  their  dusky  arms. 
But  the  fruit,  the  luscious  tropical  fruit! 
Let  us  promenade  before  the  stalls  and  view 
it  in  all  its  variety  and  abundance.  Look 
at  that  great  heap  of  sour-sops,  huge  shin- 
ing balls  of  green,  filled  to  the  bursting  point 
with  juicy  white  pulp — how  my  mouth  wa- 
ters at  the  thought.  Buy  one  of  those  jelly 
cocoanuts,  take  it  home,  dip  its  pearly  blanc- 

113 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


mange  from  the  shell  with  a  spoon,  close 
your  eyes,  taste  and  be  happy.  Slice  open 
that  brown  sappodillo,  partake  of  the  lus- 
cious paw-paw,  fill  your  pockets  with  man- 
goes, water  lemons,  guavas — we  are  in  the 
garden  of  Hesperides.  Let  me  place  in  your 
basket  maumee  apples,  star  apples,  custard 
apples,  sugar  apples,  red  and  yellow  bana- 
nas, fig  bananas,  plantains,  oranges,  tan- 
gerines, mandarins,  limes,  lemons,  water  co- 
coanuts,  cashews,  white  and  red  grapefruit, 
shaddocks,  grapes,  prickly  pears,  tumbor- 
iur  loquats — all  can  be  purchased  for  an 
English  shilling. 

If  you  are  surfeited  with  fruit,  we  will  re- 
turn to  the  hotel,  for  it  is  almost  one  o'clock 
and  the  market  will  soon  break  up  in  a  gen- 
eral melee,  in  which  fruit,  flowers  and  vege- 
tables will  hurtle  through  the  air;  cocoa- 
nuts  will  collide  with  you  and  you  with  sour- 
sop,  until  such  a  mass  of  frugivorous  matter 
will  kaleidoscope  before  the  eyes  of  the  spec- 
tator that  he  will  imagine  himself  a  popu- 
list orator  on  a  tour  through  Georgia. 

Life  at  the  Marine  hotel  is  very  enjoyable. 
The  building  is  built  on  coral  rock  and  is 
in  the  form  of  a  U,  with  long  wings  and 
wide,  breezy  halls,  especially  constructed  for 

114 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


the  free  circulation  of  the  trade  winds.  The 
rooms  are  large  and  airy,  with  huge  win- 
dows of  lattice  work  which  cannot  be  closed, 
in  fact  there  is  no  necessity  for  closing  them 
in  this  hospitable  clime.  To  be  sure  the 
birds  are  a  little  inquisitive  and  have  a  habit 
of  flying  in  at  the  window  and  helping  them- 
selves to  fruit,  etc.,  while  little  green  lizards 
are  likely  to  scramble  around  the  walls  of 
your  chamber  in  search  of  flies  and  mosqui- 
tos,  but  no  one  minds  these  West  Indian 
peculiarities.  At  rare  intervals  a  centipede 
may  drop  from  the  ceiling  on  your  bed  or  a 
tarantula  sidle  along  the  floor,  or  perhaps 
a  mammoth  cockroach  will  endeavor  to 
carry  away  the  tallow  candle  in  your  room. 
However,  none  of  these  incidents  happened 
to  me  and  I  have  them  only  by  hearsay. 

The  humming  birds  of  Barbados  are  num- 
erous and  one  can  count  a  dozen  on  any 
single  flowering  tree  or  shrub,  of  all  sizes 
and  colors.  They  are  the  most  impudent 
and  pugnacious  little  creatures  in  existence. 
Often,  they  will  alight  on  one's  hat,  or  the 
end  of  one's  cane  and  boldly  flirt  their  little 
tails  as  much  as  to  say,  "See,  me !  Am  I  not 
pretty?" 

One  of  the  most  enjoyable  of  Barbadian 

115 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 

enjoyments  is  the  early  morning  surf  bath- 
ing. Just  as  "Old  Sol"  has  risen  above  the 
cocoanut  groves  in  the  east,  one  dons  his 
pajamas,  seizes  a  crash  towel  and  hurries 
down  to  the  beach.  .The  air  is  warm  and 
balmy,  the  water  tepid,  and  never  a  shake 
or  shiver  discomforts  the  bather,  though  he 
be  in  the  water  for  hours.  Out  over  the  cor- 
al sands,  through  the  clear  water,  treading 
lightly  amid  curious  shells  and  corals,  div- 
ing under  foam-crested  billows,  riding  up 
and  down  on  the  easy  swells — no  wonder  the 
swimmer  loves  his  bath. 

Another  occupation  fraught  with  pleasure 
is  simply  to  sit  on  the  hotel  piazzas  and 
watch  the  people  pass.  Here  will  come  an 
old  "aunty"  waddling  along  with  a  bushel 
of  yams;  another  follows  with  live  ducks, 
chickens  or  turkeys ;  another  with  fruit ;  all 
placed  on  trays  and  all  poised  on  the  head 
with  arms  dangling  free  at  the  sides..  Even 
milk,  bread,  fish,  ginger  beer  are  peddled  in 
this  manner.  While  we  are  looking  porters 
pushing  hand  carts,  donkey  drivers,  grooms, 
beggars,  sailors,  street  vendors,  fakirs,  and 
children  will  pass,  all  busy  with  their  var- 
ious occupations.  Perhaps  a  country  girl 
will  pass  with  white  or  yellow  shoes,  and 

116 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


green,  red  or  blue  stockings  as  her  fancy 
desires.  When  she  has  reached  the  city 
outskirts  she  will  sit  down  by  the  wayside 
and  take  them  off,  after  which  she  will  place 
them  on  her  head  and  resume  her  way,  con- 
scious that  her  appearance  in  town  has  been 
"comme  il  faut,"  while  her  shoe  leather  has 
been  saved  where  there  are  no  eyes  to  see. 
From  the  Marine  Hotel  one  can  make  a 
delightful  excursion  to  Bathsheba,  on  the 
windward  side  of  the  island.  Here  a  com- 
fortable little  hostelry  is  perched  upon  rag- 
ged cliffs  jutting  out  over  the  water.  One 
is  carried  up  the  pathway  in  a  sedan  chair 
and  as  the  two  black  carriers  wind  in  and 
out  among  the  rocks  a  pretty  picture  is 
spread  out  before  the  view.  On  one  side 
are  fields  of  livid  green  cane,  coffee  planta- 
tions, meadows  and  groves  of  fruit;  on  the 
other  side  the  amethyst  sea  melts  away  in 
the  distance,  while  gigantic  waves  of  surf 
roar  and  thunder  at  your  feet.  The  wind 
here  blows  with  powerful  force,  ever  steady, 
ever  constant,  day  and  night,  month  after 
month,  until  the  trees  are  all  turned  in  one 
direction  as  if  fleeing  from  its  influence.  At 
night  one  is  sung  to  sleep  by  lullaby  of  wind 
and  ocean;  the  low  droning  of  the  wind 

117 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


mingles  with  the  dull  thud  of  the  billows 
as  they  rush  tumultuously  against  the  rock 
wall. 

Another  delightful  trip  is  to  the  coral  gar- 
dens on  the  reefs  surrounding  the  island. 
Gardens?  you  question.  Yes,  gardens  of 
flowers — coral  flowers;  posies  as  delicate  as 
the  lily  and  rose ;  bouquets  of  blushing  pink, 
of  dazzling  white,  of  blood  red. 

Procure  a  small  boat  and  dance  out  over 
the  swells  to  the  sea  garden.  Gaze  down 
into  the  depths  through  your  water  glass 
and  tell  what  you  see  on  the  white  sandy 
bottom.  Corals,  you  answer — -lumpy,  con- 
voluted brain  coral,  shallow  pan  coral,  huge 
sticks  of  branch  coral,  coronation  and  rock 
coral,  all  mingled  in  a  thousand  fantastic 
forms  and  all  reflecting  a  thousand  lights 
and  shadows  from  the  prismatic  water.  Per- 
haps you  will  see  a  piece  of  delicate  pink 
coral,  more  precious  than  gold,  or  discover 
bleeding  tooth  shells  used  as  money  by  the 
Kanakas.  Pink  and  yellow  sea  fans  wave 
majestically  to  and  fro  in  the  ground  swell; 
slimy  creatures  with  rare  shell  houses  thrust 
their  tenacles  through  the  ooze;  crabs  of 
various  forms  and  colors  scuttle  about  the 
rocks;  gold  and  silver  fish  swim  fearlessly 

118 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


beneath  you,  while  the  huge  shark  is  likely 
at  any  moment  to  meet  your  gaze  with  his 
baleful  eye. 

If  you  have  a  diving  boy  in  the  boat  send 
him  below  to  gather  a  few  of  these  curios 
for  you.  Down  he  goes  with  a  splash,  head 
first,  swimming  like  a  great  green  frog. 
Now  he  is  on  the  bottom  and  stoops  to  gath- 
er your  specimens,  then  up  he  comes,  eyes 
wide  open,  floating  in  air. 

"Dot  bery  easy,"  he  remarks,  shaking  the 
brine  from  his  woolly  pate,  "but  I  get  bery 
much  frightened  toder  day." 

"How  was  that?"  you  interrogate. 

"Buccra  man  die  wid  de  yellow  fever  on 
board  de  Demerara  schooner  in  de  harbor 
— cant  bury  him  on  shore  cause  ketch  de 
fever — sew  im  up  in  sail  cloth — tie  cannon 
to  his  feet — sail  outen  de  harbor  'bout  tree 
mile — toss  im  overboard.  Two,  tree,  five 
day  pass — me  go  divin'  out  on  de  reef — go 
down  after  big  conch  shell —  look  up  an' 
see  white  ghost  standin'  up  behin'  big  branch 
coral — wavin'  back  and  forth — arms  swing- 
in' — body  comin  toward  me  on  the  tide.  Me 
much  scared — eyes  stick  out — swaller  heap 
water — get  to  surface  pretty  soon — go  way 
soon — no  like  buccra  man  ghost." 

119 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


This  white  coral  bed  seems  no  unfit  mauso- 
leum for  men.  I  would  rather  be  buried 
among  those  white  monuments  than  under 
the  damp  dark  earth. 

Ariel  sings  to  the  Prince  in  Shakespeare's 
"Tempest:" 

Full  fathoms  five,  thy  father  lies; 

Of  his  bones  are  coral  made. 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes. 

Nothing  of  his  that  doth  fade, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea  change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 

Sea  nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell, 

Ding  dong. 
Hark,  now  I  hear  them  ding  dong  bell. 

The  moon  is  rising  on  our  last  night  in 
Barbados.  We  saunter  out  on  the  piazza 
as  is  our  wont.  The  band  is  playing  over 
on  the  savannah  and  the  soft  strains  come 
to  us  through  groves  of  almond  and  mahog- 
any trees.  Bats  of  all  sizes  are  darting  about 
in  their  nightly  wanderings,  from  the  com- 
mon bat  to  the  great  vampire  or  blood  suck- 
er. We  raise  our  eyes  to  the  great  "South- 
ern Cross" — it  is  ablaze  with  glory — we 
think  of  the  lines : 

Blue  dome  besprent  with  diamond  dust, 
Bright  gleams  the  path  by  angels  trod 

Mid  countless  jewels  rich  incrust 
Outshines  the  monogram  of  God. 

120 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


It  is  a  regretful  leave  taking.  We  hate 
to  leave  the  Major.  Brown  has  become 
our  friend;  the  microbe  man  has  so  ingra- 
tiated himself  into  our  confidence  that  we 
have  promised  to  drink  boiled  water  and 
sleep  on  wire  pillows,  while  even  Miss  Gush 
has  become  an  object  of  compassion.  To 
be  sure  the  last  words  to  me  were  something 
about  "the  pellucid,  softening,  ethereal  rays 
of  luna  on  mountain,  sea  or  dell,"  but  I  for- 
gave them — I  felt  that  way  myself. 

Seated  on  the  vessel's  deck  I  sorrowfully 
mused — every  plunge  of  the  prow,  every 
turn  of  the  wheel  was  carrying  me  to  a  cli- 
mate where  "nature  continually  frowns  for 
half  the  year  and  smiles  the  other." 

The  land  where  I  had  experienced  the 
greatest  pleasure  in  many  years  was  sink- 
ing below  the  horizon. 


121 


WhentfieWmdBlows 


I  love  the  ocean  in  its  moods  and  tenses, 

The  laughter  of  the  waves;  their  sweet  cadences 

Lull  the  soul  to  rest  and  charm  the  senses, 

When  the  wind  blows  through  the  rigging. 

I  love  to  watch  the  colors  come  and  go 

On  mountain  wave  and  crest  of  dazzling  snow; 

The  red-tinged  cloud  banks  in  a  sunset  glow, 

When  the  wind  blows  through  the  rigging. 

\ 

I  love  to  hear  the  melancholy  droning 
Through  shroud  and  stay;  the  wind's  sweet  plain- 
tive moaning, 

And  sudden  angry  hiss  of  breaking  combing, 
When  the  wind  blows  through  the  rigging. 

I  love  to  catch  the  glimmer  of  the  moon, 
Through  inky  clouds  on  curling  wave  of  spume, 
The  phosphorescent  glow  amidst  the  gloom, 
When  the  wind  blows  through  the  rigging. 

I  love  to  see  St.  Elmo's  flame  on  high, 
Or  leap  from  mast  to  mast  across  the  sky; 
The  evanescent  rainbow  fade  and  die, 

When  the  wind  blows  through  the  rigging. 

I  love  at  evening's  close  to  sink  to  sleep, 
As  lengthening  shadows  o'er  the  ocean  creep, 
Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  mighty  deep, 

When  the  wind  blows  through  the  rigging. 

123 


FAR  to  the  south,  where  the  gentle 
northeast  trades  course  over  the  heated 
Water,  lies  the  coral  island  of  Barbados. 
It  stands  boldly  to  the  eastward  of  all  the 
Caribbean  Islands,  and  is  distant  only  a  few 
hours'  sailing  from  Martinique,  St.  Lucia, 
St.  Vincent,  Bequia  and  the  Spanish  main. 

In  certain  seasons  of  the  year  drift  car- 
ried out  to  sea  by  the  powerful  current  of 
the  Orinoco  reaches  this  island  and  occa- 
sionally the  remains  of  huge  alligators,  liz- 
ards and  poisonous  serpents,  whose  habitat 
is  Venezuela,  are  cast  upon  the  shore. 

The  geological  formation  of  Barbados  is 
most  interesting,  it  having  in  an  ancient  pe- 
riod consisted  of  a  solitary  submerged  vol- 
canic peak.  The  coral  insects  constructed 
a  broad  terrace  entirely  around  this  peak, 
and  then  came  a  gigantic  convulsion  of  na- 
ture which  upheaved  the  whole  mass  to  a 
height  of  sixty  feet.  Again  the  coral  polyps 
builded;  another  terrace  grew,  and  again 


125 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


the  mass  was  raised.  But  this  was  not  the 
end,  for  another  terrace  was  formed  and 
upheaved,  and  at  the  present  time  a  fourth 
is  in  progress  of  construction  by  the  same 
diligent  little  creatures.  Upon  approaching 
the  island  the  spectator  at  once  observes 
the  symmetrical  order  of  these  terraces, 
though  they  are  now  much  eroded  and  their 
lines  distorted  by  the  throes  of  nature. 

Barbados  is  the  most  beautiful  of  all  the 
West  Indies,  and  has  one  of  the  most  equa- 
ble climates  in  the  world.  To  these  hygienic 
virtues  has  been  ascribed  its  popularity  as 
a  place  of  recuperation  for  the  fever  suf- 
ferers of  less  favored  localities.  It  has  al- 
ways been  a  British  colonial  possession  and 
two  English  regiments  are  stationed  here. 
Being  the  most  densely  inhabited  pastoral 
spot  of  land  in  the  world,  every  acre  of  its 
surface  is  cultivated  to  the  highest  possible 
extent  to  support  its  immense  population. 
Verdant  fields  of  cane  wave  over  its  undu- 
lating terraces — immense  patches  of  yams, 
eddoes  and  cassava  flourish  in  its  beautiful 
valley,  while  narrow  roads  of  white  coral 
lead  to  quaint  old  colonial  mansions  almost 
hidden  among  stately  groves  of  mahogany 
and  royal  palm  trees. 

126 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Its  freedom  from  serpents  and  noxious 
insects,  its  perfect  drainage  and  strict  sani- 
tary laws,  its  cool,  balmy  breezes  and  re- 
freshing showers,  make  it  a  place  of  quiet, 
healthful  rest  to  the  invalid  fleeing  from  the 
rigors  of  a  northern  winter ;  while  its  wealth 
of  curious  shells  and  beautiful  corals,  its 
strange  fruits  and  flowers,  its  brilliant  birds 
and  queer  animals,  its  busy  plantation  life 
and  interesting  character  studies,  are  a 
never-failing  source  of  entertainment  to 
northern  visitors. 

In  the  surrounding  waters  of  this  delight- 
ful region  the  flying-fish  makes  his  home, 
the  dolphin  disports  himself  and  huge  sea 
birds  sail  majestically  over  the  water,  prey- 
ing on  both.  Out  on  the  coral  reefs  which 
guard  the  shore  thunders  the  majestic  surge 
of  the  constant  trades,  sending  its  milk- 
white  spray  across  the  mussel  beds  to  lave 
the  feet  of  the  towering  cocoanuts  fringing 
the  beach.  The  vicious  barracuda,  the  sharp- 
toothed  mackerel  and  the  lumbering  shark 
lurk  among  the  coral  caverns  near  shore, 
white  schools  of  bonitos,  sinnets  and  jacks 
play  in  the  open  water  over  the  shallows. 

The  flying-fish  loves  deep  water  and  is 
found  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 

127 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


tropical  seas.  He  is  fond  of  feeding  near  the 
gulf  weed  of  the  sargassos,  and  deposits  his 
stringy,  glutinous  spawn  on  its  yellow 
branches.  Vessels  bound  from  New  York 
to  the  Caribbee  Islands  upon  reaching  the 
"horse  latitudes"  sometimes  encounter  vast 
quantities  of  drifting  weed,  strung  out  into 
long  ribbon-like  patches,  about  an  eighth 
of  a  mile  apart.  Among  this  golden  weed, 
with  its  delicate  leaves  and  globular  seeds, 
exists  a  curious  family  of  cuttle  fish,  crabs, 
mollusks  and  small  fishes.  Upon  these  the 
flying-fish  preys  and  they  in  turn  devour  its 
spawn.  Every  plunge  of  the  steamer  as 
she  plows  through  the  blue  tropical  waters 
frightens  dozens  of  flying-fish  into  the  air, 
where  they  scatter  in  all  directions,  with 
the  sunlight  glistening  on  their  gauzy 
wings. 

The  flying  fish  of  the  Atlantic  attains 
a  length  of  nearly  one  foot,  and  a  breadth 
between  wing  tips  of  eleven  inches.  He  has 
a  round,  compact  body,  about  an  inch  in 
diameter  near  the  pectoral  fins  or  wings. 
There  is  also  an  auxiliary  pair  of  ventral 
fins  or  wings,  not  nearly  so  large  as  the 
pectoral  pair.  The  wings  are  formed  by  a 
thin,  transparent  membrane  stretched  over 

128 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


a  delicate,  bony  framework,  and  are  either 
black,  white,  or  mottled  with  both.  The 
upper  half  of  the  entire  fish  is  a  metallic 
blue  in  color,  while  the  lower  portion  is  a 
nacreous  white.  Black,  prominent  eyes,  a 
small,  prehensile  mouth,  forked  tail,  dorsal 
and  anal  fins,  complete  the  picture  of  one  of 
the  most  interesting  little  fishes  in  all  na- 
ture's vast  aquarium. 

In  flight  he  darts  from  the  water  to  a 
height  of  twenty  feet,  and  goes  scudding 
away  before  the  wind,  beating  the  air  rap- 
idly with  both  wings  and  tail.  He  sails 
straight  away  for  one  thousand  feet,  or  even 
more,  occasionally  touching  the  crest  of  a 
wave,  and  seeming  to  gain  a  new  impetus 
by  the  contact. 

.  .  The  flying  fish  fleet  of  Barbados  is  the 
largest  in  the  West  Indies,  and  during  the 
fishing  season  between  December  and  June 
it  takes  an  immense  number  of  these  fish, 
which  furnish  a  cheap  and  abundant  food 
supply  for  the  Barbadians. 

The  boats  are  ungainly  open  craft,  crude- 
ly built,  with  naked  ribs  of  mahogany 
planked  with  yellow  pine.  Rigged  with  leg- 
of-mutton  mainsail  and  large,  flat  jib,  they 
are  fairly  good  sailers,  and  are  managed 

129 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


with  no  little  skill  and  dexterity,  notwith- 
standing their  makeshift  equipment  of 
burnt  out  ropes,  patched  sails  and  unwieldy 
ballast.  Every  boat  carries  one  or  more 
heavy  lines  for  large  fish,  small  flying-fish 
hooks,  a  shark  hook,  and  two  nets  of  half- 
inch  mesh  stretched  over  a  round  bamboo 
hoop  three  feet  in  diameter. 

Down  to  the  beach  in  the  early  dawn  come 
the  fishermen  from  their  dilapidated  huts 
amid  the  cane  and  cocoanut  clumps.  Great, 
brawny  fellows  they  are,  as  they  stand 
ready  to  plunge  into  the  boiling  surf  through 
which  they  must  swim  to  reach  their  boats. 
Out  over  the  reef  through  the  intricate  chan- 
nel glides  the  boat.  The  red  glint  of  the 
morning  sun  tinges  its  sails,  the  northeast 
trades  fill  the  bellying  canvas,  and  soon 
scores  of  boats  are  pulling  out  into  blue  wa- 
ter from  behind  every  palm-fringed  bay  and 
protecting  headland.  The  trolling  line  is 
now  trailed  out  astern,  and  its  swivel-rigged 
hoop,  spitted  with  a  shining  fish,  goes  spin- 
ning around  as  an  attraction  for  kingfish, 
gunnet,  barracuda  or  Spanish  mackerel. 

The  boat  moves  swiftly  out  over  the  sub- 
merged coral  gardens,  past  the  redfish  shal- 
lows where  live  the  snapper,  blackjack, 

130 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


covalle,  velvets  and  ningnings,  old  men,  old 
wives,  drummer-boys,  chubs,  pudding-fish, 
queen  mullets,  hinds,  congerees,  whip-rays, 
niggerheads,  butterfish,  soap-fish,  rainbows, 
cooks,  barbers'  grunts,  inkfish,  horse-eyes, 
parrot-fish  and  dozens  of  other  interesting 
fishes  most  wonderfully  made  and  brilliantly 
colored. 

At  times  a  hawk-bill  tortoise  or  a  green 
turtle  is  seen  lying  asleep  on  the  surface  of 
the  water.  Then  the  skipper  runs  silently 
alongside,  and  before  the  unwieldy  monster 
can  dive  beneath  the  wave  his  flipper  is  fast 
in  the  slipnoose  and  he  is  hauled  aboard. 

The  shore  birds  and  lazy,  croaking  peli- 
cans are  left  astern;  the  red-roofed  houses, 
the  green  hills  and  valleys,  the  whirling 
windmills,  are  all  merged  in  a  hazy  hand  oi 
emerald  on  the  horizon,  while  our  crew  be- 
gins to  search  the  water  for  drift,  weed 
seeds,  sea  birds  and  other  signs  of  fish. 

A  group  of  whales  are  feeding  under  our 
lee,  and  the  deep  roar  of  their  blowing 
reaches  us  over  the  heaving  water.  The 
little  calves  are  sportively  inclined  and 
broach  repeatedly  into  the  air,  while  the  old 
bull  and  his  cows  sound  the  bottom  for  in- 
sect life  on  the  deep  sea  banks.  Barbados 

131 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


has  a  whaling  station,  and  many  of  these 
mammals  are  taken  every  winter  and  re- 
solved into  oil,  whalebone  and  fertilizers. 
The  flesh  both  of  the  whale  and  shark  is  eat- 
en fresh  and  in  a  cured  state  by  all  the  West 
Indian  Islanders. 

We  are  now  approaching  the  flying-fish 
ground,  and  a  few  black  and  white  Mother 
Carey's  chickens  suddenly  descend  upon  us 
and  dart  to  our  outstretched  hands  for  bits 
of  food.  A  bos'un  bird  makes  an  ineffectual 
attempt  to  carry  oft7  our  spinning  fish  astern, 
while  a  "break"  of  flying  fish  scatter  in  all 
directions  as  we  plow  through  a  long  line 
of  ocean  weed.  The  command  to  lower 
away  is  sung  out  by  the  skipper,  the  tiller 
is  jammed  hard  down,  and  as  the  boat  comes 
to  the  wind  the  halyards  are  run,  stays  cast 
off,  jibboom  inrigged,  mast  unstepped,  and 
we  lie  rolling  broadside  on  in  the  huge  reg- 
ular swells. 

Stale  fish  are  now  macerated  and  the 
"mash"  hung  over  the  side  in  a  sieve-like 
basket.  As  the  boat  is  drifting  to  leeward 
this  "scent"  goes  out  to  windward,  produc- 
ing a  calm  or  "slick"  in  which  flying-fish 
begin  to  gather  in  increasing  numbers. 

Two  or  three  dart  to  the  boat,  then  shoot 

132 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


away  again  at  its  slightest  plunge,  only  to 
return  with  others  and  begin  a  closer  in- 
spection. They  come  nearer  and  nearer  in 
growing  numbers,  until  at  last,  as  if  decid- 
ing that  this  ungainly  monster  rolling  on 
the  deep  is  their  natural  protector,  they  nes- 
tle up  to  its  sides  and  swim  in  droves  around 
it.  The  fish  are  now  "good"  and  ready  to 
be  dipped."  This  is  done  at  bow  and  stern 
by  the  net  men,  who  scoop  them  gently  into 
the  boat  two  or  three  at  a  time.  Hold  a 
small  bit  of  fish  over  the  side  and  a  dozen 
will  immediately  hover  about  your  hand, 
swimming  over  and  under  your  fingers  in 
their  eagerness  to  gain  the  tidbit. 

Flying-fish  are  divided  according  to  size 
into  pinfish,  weely-whistles,  youngsters  and 
patriarchs.  Only  the  latter  come  to  the  boat, 
and  are  classed  as  spawn  and  milt  fish. 
Guineamen  are  large  species  of  flying-fish, 
three  or  four  times  heavier  than  the  patri- 
archs, and  cannot  be  lured  into  the  net.  They 
are  very  gamy  when  taken  on  the  line  and 
generally  break  into  flight  over  the  boat. 
The  bewildered  angler  then  finds  that  he 
has  hooked  a  fish,  but  is  playing  a  bird. 

The  fish  now  swarm  around  the  boat  like 
chickens,  and  more  than  two  thousand  are 

133 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


lying  in  a  glistening  heap  on  the  ballast. 

An  abandoned  whale  carcass  is  drifting 
up  to  us  from  leeward,  sending  out  a  broad 
slick  or  band  of  oil  in  all  directions.  A  mul- 
titude of  Mother  Carey's  chickens  are  hov- 
ering over  its  exposed  surface,  while  a  vi- 
cious throng  of  barracudas  and  sharks  tear 
at  the  blubber  underneath.  As  our  boat 
drifts  by  the  carcass  these  scavengers  of  the 
ocean  make  an  attack  on  our  school  of  fly- 
ing-fish, sending  them  panic  stricken  into 
the  air  in  all  directions.  Sharks  thus  gorged 
to  repletion  with  whale  blubber  do  not  take 
the  hook;  but  the  fishermen  are  so  imbued 
with  the  spirit  of  vengeance  that  they  maim 
and  injure  them  with  the  utmost  ferocity. 
They  lure  them  to  the  side  of  the  boat  by 
means  of  a  flying-fish  attached  to  a  string, 
and  thrust  their  keen  blades  up  to  the  hilt 
in  their  sides,  dyeing  the  water  for  yards 
around  with  a  crimson  flood.  The  savage 
brutes,  excited  by  their  own  blood,  tear  each 
other  in  fury,  but  at  last  retire,  leaving  us 
to  pursue  our  way  in  peace. 

Occasionally,  the  fishermen  are  seriously 
annoyed  by  a  fleet  of  Portuguese  men-o'- 
war.  These  curious,  gelatinous  animals  look 
like  pinkish,  transparent  balloons  floating 

134 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


on  the  surface  of  the  water.  Long,  purple 
streamers  trail  behind  them,  and  amid  this 
"rigging,"  as  the  sailors  call  it,  live  a  num- 
ber of  sailorfish  or  men-o'-warsmen,  who  ac- 
company the  man-o'-war  on  all  its  cruises. 
When  the  man-o'-war  is  cast  ashore  its  crew 
of  sailorfish  become  perfectly  frantic  and 
perish  of  starvation,  unless  shipped  by  an- 
other man-o'-war. 

Woe  to  the  fisherman  who  in  the  process 
of  dipping  comes  in  contact  with  these 
streamers  or  rigging.  They  seem  to  pro- 
duce an  almost  instantaneous  paralysis  of 
the  nervous  ganglia  by  their  contact.  The 
muscles  strain  involuntarily,  the  parts 
touched  burn  intensely,  the  sufferer  screams 
with  agony,  and  it  is  several  hours  before 
he  finds  relief. 

The  flying-fish  fisherman's  dinner  depends 
on  his  success  as  a  netter,  otherwise  a  dry 
crust  or  two  is  his  sole  refreshment.  As  the 
sun  approaches  the  meridian  a  fire  is  started 
on  the  iron  ballast  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat, 
a  black  pot  slung  amidships,  and  soon  a  fine 
chowder  of  flying-fish,  yams,  garlic  and  red 
peppers  is  sending  its  savory  odor  out  over 
the  water.  How  the  skipper  enjoys  this 
part  of  the  day  as  he  sits  in  the  stern,  smok- 

135 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


ing  a  short  black  pipe.  The  netmen  are 
bringing  in  the  fish  at  every  dip;  the  verti- 
cal sun  is  pouring  his  torrid  rays  down  on 
their  naked  bodies.  Their  perspiring,  oily 
limbs  gleam  like  polished  ebony  as  they 
sway  back  and  forth  over  their  work.  Fleecy 
cumulus  clouds  float  overhead  and  are  mir- 
rored in  the  seas  beneath.  Nothing  dis- 
turbs the  silence  of  this  noonday  calm  but 
the  splash  of  the  boat  as  she  rides  the 
swell,  or  the  harsh  croak  of  seabirds  as  they 
circle  in  the  air. 

But  a  contrast  is  soon  forthcoming  to  this 
picture  of  the  skipper's  masterly  inactivity 
and  environment  of  his  surroundings,  for 
his  trained  eye  has  discovered  two  cobblers 
bearing  down  from  windward.  Now  cobblers 
are  huge  sea  birds,  and  by  their  actions  in- 
dicate the  presence  of  dolphin.  If  their 
flight  be  lofty  and  circling,  they  are  said  to 
be  "searching,"  but  if  they  sail  close  to  the 
water  and  dart  repeatedly  to  its  surface, 
dolphins  are  near  at  hand.  The  cobbler 
dashes  at  the  exposed  back  of  the  dolphin 
when  he  appears  at  the  surface  and  gnashes 
out  pieces  of  flesh,  which  he  devours. 

A  sight  like  this  rouses  the  crew  into  im- 
mediate activity,  for  a  "cloud"  of  dolphin 

136 


LITTLE    PHILOSOPHIES 


is  encountered  only  once  of  twice  in  an  en- 
tire season.  Anxious  glances  are  cast  to 
windward  at  the  approaching  cobblers.  The 
boat  is  cleared  for  action.  Each  man  is 
assigned  his  station  by  the  skipper,  and  all 
stand  with  quickened  pulses  eager  for  the 
fray. 

The  shark  is  the  bull  dog  of  the  sea,  but 
the  dolphin  is  its  hound.  He  is  long  and 
narrow,  with  blunt  head,  brilliant  eyes,  pow- 
erful tail  and  a  leathery  skin  dotted  with 
blue.  He  weighs  from  twenty  to  forty 
pounds,  and  can  change  color  like  a  chamel- 
eon. Lithe  and  powerful,  he  scours  the 
sea,  the  very  personification  of  grace  and 
activity.  The  frantic  flying-fish  darts  into 
the  air  and  skims  like  a  flash  light  for  a 
thousand  feet,  but  the  dolphin  follows  swift- 
ly beneath  like  a  dark  shadow  and  rends  his 
exhausted  prey  as  it  sinks  on  the  crested 
wave. 

The  excitement  is  now  at  fever  heat,  the 
flying-fish  begin  to  run  wild,  dark  shadowy 
forms  are  seen  to  windward  and  the  fisher- 
man mumbles  his  "obeah"  to  give  him  luck; 
for  on  his  success  depend  many  necessities 
for  wife  and  child,  tobacco,  rum  and  feast- 
day  money.  Suddenly  our  flying-fish  break 

137 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


from  the  water  in  a  silvery  shower.  The 
cobblers  and  seagulls  pursue  them  in  air, 
the  dolphins  surround  them  beneath  the 
wave.  At  the  first  taste  of  blood  the  dol- 
phins have  turned  into  a  bright  orange  yel- 
low and  are  now  said  to  be  in  their  "biting 
colors." 

Both  ends  of  the  big  line  are  worked 
with  all  possible  celerity.  The  bait  scarcely 
touches  the  water  ere  a  dolphin  strikes  and 
is  drawn  aboard  while  the  rest  crowd 
around  the  boat  in  a  dense  pack  as  if  eager 
for  the  hook.  The  dolphins  in  the  boat  keep 
up  a  ceaseless  hammering  with  their  tails, 
battering  everything  breakable  into  a  shape- 
less mass  and  bruising  the  fishermen  se- 
verely. They  present  a  beautiful  sight  in 
their  dying  moments,  changing  color  rapid- 
ly from  blue  to  purple,  orange  and  yellow; 
while  overhead  a  noisy  flock  of  sea  birds 
look  down  on  the  scene  and  mingle  their 
cries  in  the  general  hubbub.  More  than  fifty 
dolphins  are  taken  in  ten  minutes,  when 
suddenly  they  become  frightened  and  van- 
ish, to  be  seen  no  more,  leaving  a  panting, 
exhausted  crew  covered  with  blood  from 
head  to  foot,  but  supremely  happy. 

There    are    other   moments   of   happiness 

138 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


to  the  flying-fish  fisherman,  but  none  that 
he  enjoys  so  much  as  when  catching  dol- 
phin. Very  rarely  he  meets  with  a  "sea 
navy,"  or  large  congregations  of  all  kinds 
of  large  fishes,  including  blackjack,  king- 
fish,  gunnet,  barracuda,  dolphin,  shark,  por- 
poise, bonita,  bullfish  and  albacore.  For 
what  reason  these  fishes  assemble  in  such 
vast  numbers  is  not  known.  They  crowd 
together  closely  and  churn  the  water  into 
foam  for  an  eighth  of  a  mile  in  all  directions. 
When  a  sea  navy  is  "hailed"  the  fisherman 
endeavors  to  get  his  boat  into  the  pack  and 
then  he  can  fill  it,  for  at  such  times  the  fish 
are  ravenous.  A  large  albacore  will  weigh 
three  hundred  pounds,  and  it  takes  the  en- 
tire crew  to  handle  him.  After  an  hour's 
hard  playing  he  is  drawn  alongside,  and  if 
there  are  no  sharks  around  the  best  diver  on 
the  boat  goes  overboard  and  puts  a  sling 
around  its  tail,  thus  assuring  its  capture.  In 
a  sea  navy  sharks  often  throng  around  the 
boat  and  nip  off  half  of  each  fish  as  it  is 
being  drawn  aboard. 

About  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  the 
boats  begin  to  make  sail  for  home,  and  hun- 
dreds of  sails  are  soon  seen  dotting  the  wa- 
ter in  all  directions. 

139 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


There  exists  great  rivalry  among  them  as 
to  which  shall  put  their  fish  ashore  first,  and 
many  a  victorious  boat  comes  surging  up  to 
the  wharf  under  sweeps,  with  dripping  can- 
vas and  exhausted  crew. 

A  ragged,  unkempt  crowd  of  women 
quickly  transfer  the  catch  to  round  baskets 
and  start  off  in  all  directions  through 
Bridgetown,  with  their  burdens  poised  on 
their  turbaned  heads.  Many  of  these  women 
will  trot  off  at  a  swinging  gait,  carrying  a 
burden  of  one  hundred  pounds,  and  travers- 
ing a  distance  of  fifteen  miles  or  more  be- 
fore their  last  fish  is  sold  and  the  last  cry 
sounded  of  "F-e-e-sh  he-e-e-r." 

The  Barbadian  fisherman  is  very  super- 
stitious. All  his  goings  and  comings  are 
governed  by  signs;  all  his  ventures  con- 
trolled by  traditions  brought  from  darkest 
Africa  in  old  slavery  days.  He  strictly  ob- 
serves all  sacred  days  of  whatever  creed. 
His  imagination  pictures  "duppies"  walking 
upon  the  water  and  weird  figures  waving  in 
the  sky,  which  augur  good  or  evil  to  his 
welfare.  Strange  sounds  come  to  him  over 
the  water,  and  the  waves  eddy  and  swirl 
under  the  influence  of  submarine  monsters. 
His  real  perils,  however,  are  many,  and  the 

140 


LITTLE    PHILOSOPHIES 


woman  often  waits  in  vain  for  his  home- 
coming. The  hurricanes  of  the  summer  sea- 
son destroy  many  boats  and  engulf  their 
crews.  Waterspouts  rise  suddenly  out  of 
the  sea  and  rend  in  fragments  his  frail  craft. 


He  is  obliged  to  pick  his  homeward 
with  the  greatest  nicety  and  precision,  past 
hidden  reefs,  through  intricate  channels,  in 
all  kinds  of  weather,  by  day  and  by  night. 
Sometimes  in  the  gloom  of  midnight  he 
pilots  his  way  through  the  home  channel, 
guided  only  by  the  noise  of  the  surf  break- 
ing against  the  reef  on  either  side.  Should 
he  mistake  the  way  by  a  few  feet  huge  com- 
bers grasp  his  boat  and  hurl  it  with  relent- 
less force  against  the  jagged  coral. 

But  though  his  perils  be  many,  and  his 
hardships  great,  he  loves  his  calling  and 
enjoys  his  triumph  with  hook  and  net.  Like 
all  sailors,  he  drinks  more  grog  than  is  good 
for  him,  and  smokes  an  excessive  quantity 
of  vile  tobacco.  He  is  wont  to  gather  at 
the  wharf  after  the  sun  has  gone  to  rest, 
and  spin  his  yarn  and  dance  a  reel  with  the 
rest  of  his  mates,,  Under  the  benign  sky  of 
the  tropics,  in  a  land  of  perpetual  summer, 
he  pursues  his  way,  improvident,  careless, 

141 


LITTLE    PHILOSOPHIES 


untrammeled,  save  by  the  cares  of  a  mo- 
ment. 

One  who  has  sailed  these  blue  waters 
with  him  day  by  day  during  the  tropical 
winter  will  store  up  in  his  memory  many 
exciting  experiences  with  shark  and  dol- 
phin; innumerable  pictures  of  mountain- 
ous waves,  breaking  surf  and  intricate  chan- 
nels. 

He  will  recall  the  beautiful  garden  be- 
neath the  water  where  he  peered  into  hid- 
den caverns,  with  their  wealth  of  curious 
shells,  sponges  and  coral. 

As  he  sits  before  the  fireside  of  his  north- 
ern home  and  the  snow  and  sleet  beat 
against  the  window,  he  will  remember  with 
pleasure  the  days  spent  with  his  friends,  the 
flying-fish  fishermen  on  the  surface  of  the 
beautiful  Caribbean. 


142 


In  tropic  lands,  'neath  skies  of  richest  blue, 
Where  crested  wave  gives  back  the  mirrored  hue, 
The  Caribbean  islets  tower  on  high 
And  bathe  their  peaks  in  fleecy  cumuli. 

The  gentle  trades  course  o'er  the  billowy  deep, 
And   swathe   with   cooling   breath   their   hour    of 

sleep ; 

The  fragrant  lime  and  lowly  jasmine  bloom, 
Yielding  the  air  their  tribute  of  perfume; 

Where  stately  groves  and  palm  trees  fringe  the 

shore, 

And  lose  their  whispering  in  the  ceaseless  roar 
Of  breaking  surf  on  dazzling  coral  strand, 
Here  curious  shells  are  buried  in  the  sand. 

Oh!  lovely  Martinique,  thou  beauteous  isle, 
On  thee  sweet  nature  cast  her  sunniest  smile. 
Arabia's  shores  nor  fair  Hesperides 
Can  boast  thy  foliage,  bending  in  the  breeze. 

Thou  art  an  emerald  set  in  turquoise  sea, 
And  deck  the  breast  of  beauteous  Caribbee; 
Which,   swelling   gently    round   thee,   holds    thee 

dear, 
As  queen  of  all  fair  islands,  far  and  near. 

The  cloud  compelling  Pele  soars  on  high, 
Rearing  her  serrate  head  in  proud  defy, 
Gathering  the  raindrops  into  silvery  rills 
Which  wander  singing  down  the  verdured  hills. 

143 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


O,  Josephine!  thy  memories  clung,  perchance, 
To  this  thy  birthplace,  fairest  isle  of  France! 
And  longing  filled  thy  troubled  heart  to  hear 
Once  more  the  silvery  chimes  from  St.  Pierre. 

Once  more  in  sunny  path  and  quiet  glade, 
By  limpid  pools,  'neath  cool,  refreshing  shade, 
To  wander  forth,  and  thread  the  tropic  maze 
Fastening  the  lovely  view  in  one  long  gaze. 


[Following  the  destruction  of  Martinique,  Mrs. 
Hiram  Higgins,  Harry's  mother,  added  this  clos- 
ing stanza.] 

O,  Martinique,  proud  Pelee  sealed  thy  doom — 
Hast  plunged  thee  in  the  darkest,  deepest  gloom. 
And  can'st  thou  ever  hope  again  to  be 
The  queen  of  all  fair  islands  of  the  sea? 
The  children  thou  hast  left  in  deep  despair 
Will  never  see  again  thy  face  so  fair; 
Where  singing  brooks  coursed  down  thy  mountain 

side 
The  burning  lava  found  a  place  to  hide. 


144 


TV  TEBUCHADNEZZAR  or  old  Neb,  as 
1  1  everyone  called  him,  was  a  meek- 
eyed,  loud-voiced  mule.  His  external  ap- 
pearance, to  one  uncultured  in  the  science 
of  mule  character  would  lead  to  the  belief 
that  the  animal  before  him,  was  of  a  very 
decorous  and  peaceful  temperament.  His 
color,  a  grayish  brown,  together  with  the 
long,  narrow  head,  and  a  certain  subdued 
way  of  casting  down  his  eyes,  fostered  this 
idea  and  gave  him  quite  a  thoughtful  ap- 
pearance. And  then  his  ears — those  weath- 
er-cocks of  every  changing  mood  in  his  dis- 
position— not  a  movement  but  meant  vol- 
umes. If  Neb's  ears  were  forward,  all  was 
serene,  if  straight  up  he  was  hungry,  while 
a  backward  trend  was  succeeded  by  an  os- 
sified condition  for  an  indefinite  period. 
But  as  Uncle  Moses  Johnson  said,  and  Un- 
cle Mose  was  an  authority  on  mules,  Neb's 
appearance  was  deceitful. 

The   mule   had   become    the    property   of 

145 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Uncle  Mose  through  my  father,  who  being 
unable  either  to  work  or  sell  him,  did  the 
next  best  thing  and  gave  him  away. 

This  transfer  of  property  did  not  seem 
to  please  Neb,  for  the  very  next  day  he 
backed  Uncle  Mose  and  a  cotton  bale  down 
a  ten-foot  embankment,  into  a  deep  slough 
where  they  were  found  struggling  in  inde- 
scribable confusion  by  the  next  team  which 
passed. 

Uncle  Mose  had  been  a  slave  of  my  fath- 
er's before  the  war,  and  after  peace  was  de- 
clared had  insisted  on  staying  with  the  fam- 
ily, saying  in  his  quaint  way,  "Ma'se  Jeems 
and  me  done  growed  up  togedder.  Nebber 
cotch  dis  niggah  leaben  dis  heah  fambly 
foh  shuah." 

A  little  cabin  near  the  big  house  was  the 
old  man's  home,  and  here  he  lived,  doing 
such  odd  jobs  as  suited  his  declining  years. 
Gourd  vines  and  jessamine  clothed  the  lit- 
tle place,  while  the  mocking  bird  trilled 
forth  his  melody  from  the  big  magnolias 
which  lined  the  lane  in  front. 

Goober  peas,  yams,  grass  nuts  and  water- 
melons grew  in  the  little  garden  at  the  side 
of  the  house,  and  a  huge  scuppernong  vine 
formed  a  snug  arbor  near  the  lane.  To  this 

146 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


cool  retreat  on  a  summer  day  Uncle  Mose 
and  I  would  betake  ourselves,  and  many 
a  juicy  melon  here  met  its  fate,  while  old 
Neb  craned  his  head  over  the  fence  near  by 
for  an  occasional  bite. 

Uncle  Mose,  Nebuchadnezzar  and  myself 
were  inseparable  companions,  and  I  loved 
them  both  with  all  the  ardour  that  fourteen 
years  can  give.  The  long  winter  evenings 
were  all  passed  in  the  little  cabin,  and  many 
a  pan  of  goobers  were  roasted  over  the  hot 
coals  in  the  big  black  fireplace,  while  Uncle 
Mose  told  thrilling  tales  of  ghosts  and  wild 
beasts. 

One  day  in  the  fall  I  sauntered  down  to 
the  cabin  as  usual.  The  mule  and  his  mas- 
ter were  both  there,  the  former,  with  a  very 
dejected  look,  was  hanging  his  long  head 
over  the  fence,  while  the  latter  was  busily 
stirring  a  huge  pot  of  lye  hominy. 

I  sat  down  on  the  chopping  block  and 
awaited  developments.  Pretty  soon  Uncle 
Mose  looked  up  very  solemnly  and  said: 

"Dat's  de  cussedess  mule  dat  evah  was 
bawn  on  dis  heah  plantation." 

"Why,  what  is  the  matter?"  I  asked. 

"Ise  gwine  gib  dat  mule  away,"  continued 
the  old  man.  He  done  eat  up  all  Miss  Sal- 

147 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


ly's  custard  pies  dat  was  out  on  de  maple 
stump  coolin',  and  I  clar  to  gracious  Ise 
gwine  to  sell  dat  mule  'fore  sun  down." 

I  was  not  much  alarmed  at  the  threat,  for 
I  knew  by  experience  that  it  would  not  be 
carried  out,  so  I  said  calmly,  "He  certainly 
is  a  bad  mule,  but  you  said  once  that  he 
wasn't  nearly  so  bad  as  Jim  Smith's,  now, 
didn't  you?" 

"Yes,  sah!  Yes,  sah!  Buddy  and  I  says 
so  yit.  Why  dat  mule  is  a  kerwolloper! 
Shoo!  Why  dey  has  to  put  de  harness  on 
him  wid  a  hick'ry  pole,  an'  I  clar  if  dey 
don't  have  ter  git  a  new  pole  ebbery  time. 
Fac' !  kase  Ise  seed  um,  and  dey  named  him 
Kerlamity,  kase  he  kicked  so  many  niggahs 
right  squar  in  two.  Why,  massa!  Jim 
Smith's  driver,  Rufus,  nebber  do  know 
when  he  gwine  ter  die,  dat  mule  so  cantank- 
erous.' 

"Didn't  they  even  try  to  break  him  of 
kicking?"  I  asked. 

"Dey  kain't,  Buddy,  it's  no  use.  Now  if 
dat  Rufus  ud  go  out  in  de  fiel  at  midnight, 
like  I  done  tole  him,  and  pick  a  right  smart 
heap  of  hemlock  balls,  and  say  to  hisself, 
'Mule  fodder  charm  me!  Mule  fodder 
charm  me!'  and  den  go  home  and  feed  dem 

148 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


balls  to  dat  ar  mule — why,  Buddy,  dat 
mule'd  follow  dat  man,  tame  as  a  chicken." 

"Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  Neb  followed 
you  down  town  last  Easter  Sunday,  and 
got  into  so  much  trouble." 

Now,  any  allusion  to  Easter  Sunday  al- 
ways worried  Uncle  Mose,  for  it  was  on  this 
particular  day  that  Neb  had  broken  through 
all  rules  and  regulations,  which  a  respecta- 
ble mule  ought  to  follow. 

How  it  happened  that  the  pasture  bars 
were  down  that  morning,  nobody  knows, 
but  certain  it  was  that  they  were  down, 
and  as  surely  did  old  Nebuchadnezzar  avail 
himself  of  the  opportunity  to  gain  a  short 
period  of  freedom. 

He  walked  slowly  down  the  lane,  nib- 
bling at  a  fresh  bit  of  grass  now  and  then, 
and  slapping  his  lean  flanks  with  his  short, 
stumpy  tail.  At  last  the  main  road  was 
reached — one  way  led  into  the  country;  the 
other  toward  town.  Here  Neb  paused,  and 
took  a  leisurely  survey  of  his  surroundings. 

It  was  a  balmy  spring  morning ;  peace 
and  contentment  were  in  the  air;  the  trees 
had  already  put  forth  their  tender  green 
leaves;  the  fields  were  ploughed  and  sown; 
wild  flowers  bloomed  at  the  foot  of  every 

149 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 

hedge;  the  low  monotonous  hum  of  bees 
came  from  the  peach  and  apple  blossoms 
across  the  way;  while  the  faint  echo  of 
the  opening  hymn  was  borne  across  the 
odor-laden  air  from  the  little  brown  church 
half  a  mile  away. 

Whether  it  was  that  old  Neb  had  an  ear 
for  music,  or  whether  it  was  out  of  pure 
cussedness,  I  am  not  prepared  to  state,  but 
after  gazing  for  a  moment  at  the  tempting, 
green-bordered  country  road  he  slowly  be- 
took himself  toward  the  little  brown  church 
and  the  sweet  echo. 

Now,  not  far  from  the  little  brown  church, 
in  a  little  brown  house  dwelt  Miss  Gallic 
Sparks;  the  place  was  a  model  of  neatness 
and  order,  for  Miss  Gallic,  being  very  prim 
herself,  liked  everything  prim  around  her. 

A  red-brick  wall  led  straight  up  to  the 
front  door;  there  was  a  little  tree  on  this 
side,  an  exact  counterpart  of  one  on  the 
other  side;  there  was  a  little  flower  bed 
here;  ditto  over  there;  while  in  the  house 
things  were  arranged  with  such  mathemat- 
ical accuracy  that  it  fairly  made  one  dizzy 
to  contemplate  them.  Even  the  old  family 
clock  had  been  afraid  to  lose  a  minute  in  ten 

150 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


years,  so  awed  was  it  by  Miss  Callie's  rec- 
tangular mind. 

Easter  morning  dawned  bright  and  clear 
for  Miss  Gallic,  and  after  the  chickens  had 
been  fed,  the  dishes  washed  and  the  old  fam- 
ily clock  wound,  she  betook  herself  up- 
stairs to  prepare  for  church,  and  to  see  if 
her  new  Easter  bonnet  was  safe  where  she 
had  put  it  the  night  before. 

Yes,  there  it  was  with  its  purple  violets 
and  dark  green  leaves — a  tempting  bit  of 
millinery  indeed;  anyone  would  be  a  little 
vain  over  such  a  work  of  art.  So  it  was 
with  great  satisfaction  that  Miss  Gallic 
started  out  half  an  hour  later,  and  began 
her  walk  to  church. 

There  was  a  large  congregation  already 
seated,  and  people  were  still  coming  in  by 
twos  and  threes  when  the  old  cracked  bell 
began  its  melancholy  call  for  belated  sin- 
ners. 

This  was  Miss  Callie's  time  for  arriving, 
and  here  she  came,  preceded  by  old  Deacon 
Sharp,  whose  duty  it  was  to  show  her  into 
her  pew,  although  she  had  sat  in  it  for 
twelve  years,  and  knew  the  way  to  it  far 
better  than  the  deacon.  It  was  right  by 
the  window,  well  up  in  front,  and  by  rais- 

151 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


ing  one's  head  a  little,  a  fine  view  of  Kene- 
saw  Mountain  presented  itself.  In  fact,  it 
was  a  very  snug  little  place  in  which  to 
dream  away  the  dull  part  of  a  Sunday  ser- 
mon. So  thought  Miss  Gallic  as  she  set- 
tled into  her  retreat,  and  began  to  inspect 
her  neighbor's  Easter  bonnets. 

The  opening  hymn  had  been  sung,  and 
the  minister  had  proceeded  to  fifthly  or 
sixthly.  The  congregation  was  fast  settling 
into  the  period  of  dreamy  attention,  which 
the  middle  of  a  dull  sermon  is  prone  to  in- 
spire. 

Deacon  Sharp  had  fallen  asleep,  and  the 
playful  antics  of  a  blue-bottle  fly  on  his  up- 
turned visage  was  affording  infinite  amuse- 
ment to  the  small  boys  in  the  seat  behind. 
At  this  period  a  surprising  interruption  oc- 
curred. 

A  huge  head  was  thrust  suddenly  in  at 
Miss  Callie's  window ;  a  huge  mouth  opened, 
descended  and  with  a  snap  closed  on  that 
dainty  Easter  bonnet,  with  its  dark  green 
leaves  and  purple  violets. 

With  a  shriek  Miss  Gallic  made  an  un- 
availing snatch  at  her  property,  then  fainted 
dead  away,  while  old  Neb  continued  calmly 

152 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


to  masticate  the  remnants  of  the  bonnet  be- 
fore the  whole  congregation. 

Such  confusion!  Such  commotion!  Dea- 
con Sharp  awakened  and  yelled  fire ;  the 
minister  knocked  the  water  pitcher  off  the 
stand  in  his  excitement;  women  shrieked; 
men,  I  regret  to  say,  used  strong  language. 
Pandemonium  reigned  supreme. 

When  at  last  old  Neb  had  been  driven  off, 
and  order  partially  restored,  the  congrega- 
tion settled  slowly  into  its  seats  to  hear 
the  pastor's  closing  remarks. 

He  said  that  he  had  always  endeavored 
to  curb  his  temper,  and  to  preserve  a  kindly 
spirit  toward  all  creatures,  whether  of  the 
human  or  brute  creation;  but  he  suggested 
that  a  deputation  of  church  members  be  or- 
dered to  call  upon  that  mule,  and  inflict  cap- 
ital punishment  on  him. 

The  closing  hymn  was  then  announced, 
but  the  organist  was  found  to  be  in  such  a 
state  of  mental  excitement  that  it  had  to 
be  dispensed  with,  and  the  congregation 
scattered  slowly  to  its  respective  homes,  to 
think  over  the  unusual  occurrences  of  the 
day. 


153 


tf owl  Broke  URthe Sideshow 


WHEN  I  was  a  small  boy  living  in  the 
country  town  of  Galva,  a  mammoth, 
glittering  menagerie,  hippodrome,  circus 
and  aquarium  combined  was  billed  to  arrive 
on  a  certain  day  and  give  one  of  its  world- 
famous,  unrivalled  oriental  exhibitions. 

In  due  course  of  time  it  appeared  on  the 
village  green  and  I  rose  early  in  the  morn- 
ing for  the  express  purpose  of  carrying  wa- 
ter to  the  elephants,  in  case  divine  provi- 
dence should  grant  me  this  great  boor. 

After  many  journeys  to  the  town  pump 
the  elephant  refused  to  absorb  any  more 
water  and  I  was  permitted  to  enter  the  sa- 
cred presence  of  the  fat  lady,  the  mammoth 
boa  constrictor  and  the  wild  man  from  Bor- 
neo, in  the  side  show.  Zip  was  the  wild 
man's  name  and  a  more  bespangled,  be- 
whiskered,  idiotic  looking  creature  I  never 
saw.  The  lecturer  went  on  to  describe  Zip 
as  a  most  ferocious  and  bloodthirsty  crea- 
ture. He  enumerated  as  one  of  Zip's  weak- 

155 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


nesses  an  inordinate  fondness  for  fresh,  live 
frogs. 

He  said  that  Zip  would  walk  ahead  of 
the  show  as  it  passed  through  the  country 
and  in  rainy  weather  pick  up  dozens  of  big 
frogs  in  wayside  puddles.  These  he  would 
devour  instanter  with  great  gusto. 

He  explained  that  this  satisfied  Zip's  long- 
ing for  human  flesh  and  kept  him  gentle 
and  kind,  further  remarking  that  as  it  had 
been  dry  weather  for  a  month  no  frogs  had 
been  forthcoming  and,  consequently,  Zip 
was  in  a  highly  ferocious  state  and  had  to 
be  chained  at  night  for  fear  he  would  eat 
the  living  skeleton  or  the  fat  lady. 

This  produced  a  deep  impression  on  my 
mind  and  I  went  home,  only  to  meditate  on 
Zip  and  his  craving  for  frogs.  The  more  I 
thought,  the  more  dejected  I  became,  that 
Zip  should  be  deprived  of  his  favorite  re- 
freshment. 

Early  in  the  morning  I  hurried  down  to 
the  creek  and  after  a  prodigious  wading  in 
the  soft  mud  I  captured  a  dozen  frogs  and 
confined  them  securely  in  an  old  tomato 
can. 

As  soon  as  the  circus  opened  its  doors, 
in  a  high  state  of  excitement  I  entered  the 

156 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


side  show  and  secured  a  good  position  in 
front  of  the  crowd  and  directly  facing  Zip. 

The  lecturer  at  last  reached  the  point  of 
telling  the  story  of  Zip's  intense  love  for 
frogs. 

Instantly,  at  the  conclusion,  I  thrust  for- 
ward the  opened  can  under  Zip's  nose  and 
out  hopped  the  collection,  all  over  the  plat- 
form. Zip  fell  backward  off  his  chair  and 
his  face  betrayed  the  extreme  disgust  he 
felt,  while  the  lecturer's  expression  and  lan- 
guage I  forbear  to  depict. 

The  show  came  to  a  dead  stop.  The  lec- 
turer explained  that  Zip  had  eaten  two 
quarts  of  decayed  oysters  the  night  before 
and  had  no  appetite  for  frogs. 

I  had  "busted"  the  phenomenon,  but  the 
entire  circus  company  hugely  enjoyed  the 
story  and,  as  the  elephant  keeper  smuggled 
me  under  the  canvas  at  the  night  perform- 
ance, it  served  to  lessen  my  deep  humilia- 
tion. 


157 


Ouel&pptj  F 


T  I  'HERE  are  many  so-called  happy  fami- 
1.  lies  in  museums  and  side  shows,  but 
usually  the  animals  are  overfed  or  drugged 
to  render  them  sluggish  and  inert.  Let  me 
tell  you  a  true  story  of  a  real,  happy  family, 
raised  at  Galva,  Illinois. 

One  evening,  my  mother  received  a  shock 
upon  discovering  a  young  rat  quietly  sleep- 
ing in  the  bed  with  her  youngest  child. 

Being  so  small  he  was  easily  caught  and 
placed  in  a  wash  tub  which  had  been  sug- 
gested for  that  purpose. 

My  mother  was  opposed  to  the  idea  of 
killing  the  rat  herself,  so  she  sent  for  the 
family  cat,  a  large  black  one,  and  at  that 
time  the  fond  mother  of  two  young  kittens. 

Placing  her  in  the  tub  mother  awaited  de- 
velopments. Imagine  her  surprise  when 
pussy,  instead  of  pouncing  upon  the  little 
creature  and  killing  it,  as  expected,  began 
quietly  to  stroke  down  its  fur  with  her 
tongue.  Nor  did  the  rat  seem  to  be  at  all 

159 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


afraid  of  his  foster  mother,  and  upon  her 
lying  down,  promptly  curled  himself  up  by 
her  side  and  began  to  nurse  with  all  the  vig- 
or of  a  young  kitten,  while  pussy  purred 
and  blinked  in  perfect  contentment. 

Greatly  wondering  at  such  unnatural  con- 
duct, my  mother  carried  the  tub  downstairs 
and  after  making  a  snug  bed  of  flannel  for 
the  ill-assorted  pair,  retired  for  the  night. 

Meanwhile,  puss  was  not  idle,  for  the 
morning  light  disclosed  not  only  the  adopted 
baby  but  his  two  little  foster  brothers,  the 
kittens  all  curled  up  together  and  fast 
asleep. 

Marvel  of  marvels !  What  is  it  that  tabby 
is  just  bringing  in  at  the  door?  Sure  as 
you  live — another  little  rat,  and  a  lively  lit- 
tle fellow,  too,  as  he  proves  by  kicking  out 
vigorously  with  his  little  pink  legs. 

He,  too,  is  deposited  with  the  fast  in- 
creasing family,  and  again  does  pussy  go 
out.  Evidently,  her  family  is  not  large 
enough,  for  two  more  little  rats  are  added 
to  it  before  she  stops. 

Our  happy  family  now  became  a  promi- 
nent feature  of  the  village  and  was  visited 
by  many  people  who  were  anxious  to  see  so 
strange  a  sight. 

160 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


The  rats  grew  rapidly  and  were  soon 
great,  sleek  fellows,  almost  as  large  as  the 
kittens,  whom  they  abused  in  the  most  un- 
brotherly  fashion. 

Old  Tabby  was  very  partial  to  her  adopt- 
ed children,  and  would  cuff  the  kittens 
soundly  whenever  any  disputes  arose.  The 
kittens  were  now  weaned,  and  strange  to 
say,  pussy  was  constantly  bringing  in  rats 
and  mice  for  their  food. 

Sometimes,  my  mother  would  let  the 
whole  family  out  to  play  around  the  room, 
but  on  these  occasions  puss  was  very  so- 
licitous about  them  and  would  soon  catch 
them  by  the  back  of  the  neck,  and  carry 
them  away,  one  by  one,  until  all  were  safe 
in  their  box.  The  rats  would  run  all  over 
her  and  it  seemed  an  unfailing  source  of 
delight  for  them  to  play  with  her  tail.  They 
would  gnaw  poor  tabby's  claws  until  they 
bled  and  the  kittens  were  whipped  into  an 
abject  state  of  subjection  by  their  active 
brothers. 

Whenever  the  rats  wanted  a  drink  they 
would  perch  on  top  of  pussy's  head  and, 
leaning  over,  absorb  the  saliva  from  the 
corners  of  her  mouth. 

So  many  people  came  to  see  the  happy 

161 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


family  that  my  mother  was  compelled  to 
put  them  out  in  the  yard  to  avoid  the  nui- 
sance. One  night,  alas,  unruly  neighbor- 
ing cats  found  them  and  after  a  heroic 
fight  with  tabby,  carried  her  adopted  chil- 
dren off,  to  our  great  regret. 


162 


DURING  a  winter's  sojourn  on  the  island 
of  Barbados,  I  was  one  day  traversing 
the  narrow  streets  of  Bridgetown  when  I  saw 
a  sunburned  Norwegian  sailor  approaching, 
bearing  a  chattering  little  marmoset  on  his 
arm. 

The  little  creature  was  attached  by  a 
string  around  its  middle  to  the  man's  wrist 
and  was  evidently  in  great  terror  of  its  bur- 
ly captor. 

As  we  brushed  past  each  other  the  mar- 
moset suddenly  sprang  to  my  shoulder  and 
from  thence  ran  with  great  rapidity  down 
my  arm  and  into  my  pocket,  where  it  stren- 
uously resisted  every  effort  to  drag  it  forth. 

Concluding  that  Providence  had  present- 
ed me  with  an  interesting  little  pet,  I  hasti- 
ly bargained  with  the  sailor  and  for  the  con- 
sideration of  four  English  shillings,  was  al- 
lowed to  pursue  my  way  with  my  hand 
clasped  gently  around  the  warm  little  ball 
in  my  pocket. 

163 


LITTLE    PHILOSOPHIES 


I  soon  learned  that  my  pet  was  known  to 
the  scientific  world  as  Jacchus  Vulgaris  and 
to  the  French  people  as  the  Ouistiti,  while 
in  England  and  America  it  is  called  the 
marmoset  or  squirrel  monkey. 

Native  Barbadians  nickname  it  "Sankey 
Winkey,"  so  I  decided  to  shorten  it  to  San- 
key. 

A  few  days  afterward  I  purchased  a  mate 
for  Sankey  on  board  a  schooner  just  ar- 
rived from  Demerara  and  with  recollections 
of  the  famous  revivalists  I  called  him 
Moody. 

My  little  evangelists,  as  my  friends  face- 
tiously dubbed  them,  were  very  near  of  a 
size,  being  about  seven  inches  long,  with 
bushy  tails  nearly  a  foot  in  length. 

Their  fur  was  of  a  dark-brown  color, 
sparsely  sprinkled  with  gray  and  with  par- 
allel rings  of  black  running  across  the  back 
and  down  the  tail. 

Grotesque  white  side-burn  whiskers  hid 
their  little  black  ears,  while  eyes  of  the  pret- 
tiest hazel,  black  pug  noses  and  sharp  white 
teeth  formed  a  countenance  resembling  that 
of  a  veritable  "jack  in  the  box." 

Both  together  weighed  about  a  pound  and 
I  could  conveniently  carry  them  in  my 

164 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


coat  pocket,  where  their  comical  little  faces 
would  pop  out  and  in  so  quickly  that  stran- 
gers would  declare  that  I  had  a  toy  in  my 
pocket  and  was  pressing  a  spring. 

Sankey  and  Moody  always  slept  in  a  ci- 
gar box,  warmly  lined  with  wool,  and  when 
it  began  to  grow  dark  they  would  become 
very  anxious  to  retire. 

If  I  did  not  immediately  bring  their  box 
they  would  chatter  and  scold  at  me  with 
such  expressions  of  alarm  and  anxiety  de- 
picted on  their  wrinkled  little  visages  that 
I  would  hasten  to  tuck  them  in  just  to  en- 
joy their  squeaks  of  contentment  and  de- 
light as  they  cuddled  together  in  the  most 
loving  manner. 

In  the  morning  I  would  be  awakened  by 
the  shrillest  of  whistles  ending  with  an  im- 
ploring little  note  which  plainly  said  "Please 
let  me  out !" 

Upon  being  liberated  they  would  begin  a 
play  spell  about  the  room ;  chasing  each 
other  under  and  over  the  chairs ;  scampering 
across  bureau  and  bed ;  leaping  from  picture 
to  picture  or  hanging  from  the  curtain 
cords. 

If  the  morning  were  a  little  cold  they 
would  soon  become  chilly  and  crawl  into 

165 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


bed  with  me,  where  they  would  continue 
their  frolic  under  the  covers,  giving  me  sun- 
dry little  bites  now  and  then  to  remind  me 
that  breakfast  should  be  ready. 

Fruit  of  all  kinds  they  dearly  loved — 
the  banana  being  a  favorite,  although  the 
sour-sop,  mango,  sappodilla  and  custard  ap- 
ple of  the  tropics  were  highly  esteemed. 

Moody  and  Sankey  looked  upon  cake  and 
milk,  ice  cream,  candy  and  honey  as  great 
dainties,  but  the  delicacy  par  excellence  was 
a  juicy,  fat  grashopper  or  pinch-bug.  They 
always  regarded  the  latter  with  great  cau- 
tion, seemed  to  know  instinctively  the  dam- 
ger  of  its  formidable  pincers. 

When  one  was  captured,  brought  in  and 
placed  upon  the  floor,  Sankey  would  dance 
around  it,  inspecting  it  carefully  and  with 
much  animation. 

His  little  eyes  would  snap  and  his  slen- 
der red  tongue  dart  in  and  out,  while  his 
whole  countenance  expressed  anticipation 
of  a  feast  yet  to  be  gained  by  quickness  and 
stratagem. 

Suddenly  seeing  his  chance  he  would  dart 
in  sidewise  at  the  bug,  and  before  it  had  time 
to  turn,  bite  off  both  pincers,  after  which  he 
would  sit  on  his  little  haunches  with  the 

166 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


bug  in  his  hands  and  contentedly  munch  his 
well-earned  dinner. 

Sankey  was  always  compelled  to  bite  off 
the  pincers  on  Moody's  bugs,  for  Moody 
was  bitten  in  his  babyhood  days  by  a  huge 
beetle,  which  seemed  to  take  away  his  ar- 
dor for  the  pursuit  of  large  game. 

The  marmoset  is  a  delicate  little  creature 
and  rarely  survives  the  cold,  damp  climate 
of  our  eastern  states  longer  than  a  few 
months.  Great  numbers  of  them  die  of  con- 
sumption and  pneumonia  while  coming  to 
this  country  on  the  steamers. 

Owing  to  great  care,  my  pets  fortunately 
preserved  their  good  health  until  I  reached 
Chicago,  when  they  begin  to  grow  sluggish 
and  inactive. 

Being  in  delicate  health  myself,  my  father 
jocularly  decided  that  the  two  marmosets 
and  the  other  monkey  (meaning  me)  should 
be  bundled  off  to  California  for  the  winter. 

So  to  California  we  went,  where  the  warm 
sunshine  and  pure  air  did  as  much  for  mon- 
keys as  for  man. 

Every  morning  their  box  would  be  placed 
upon  the  piazza  and  while  I  sat  reading 
they  would  run  all  over  the  house,  fcom 
chimney  to  cellar,  leaping  from  house  to 

167 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


tree  and  from  branch  to  branch,  scrambling 
in  and  out  among  the  vines;  playing  hide 
and  seek  amid  the  roses,  or  robbing  the  poor 
birds  of  their  eggs,  which  they  devoured 
with  great  zest. 

If  a  huge  hawk  or  turkey  buzzard  hap- 
pened to  come  sailing  by  high  up  in  the  air, 
they  would  run  hastily  to  their  box  with 
cries  of  fear,  nor  would  they  venture  forth 
again  for  a  long  time. 

The  hawk,  owl  and  snake  are  their  great- 
est enemies  amid  the  jungles  of  the  Amazon 
river  and  though  marmosets  may  be  born 
and  raised  in  captivity  they  instinctively 
dread  these  creatures. 

One  day  Sankey  strayed  over  to  a  tall 
eucalyptus  tree  forty  or  fifty  rods  distant, 
and  a  red  cow  happening  to  come  walking 
up  the  lane  so  frightened  him  with  her  bel- 
lowing that  he  ran  across  the  field  to  a 
dense  thicket,  where  after  three  days  of 
searching  I  gave  him  up  as  lost. 

Poor  little  Moody  was  inconsolable  and 
became  so  affected  by  his  bereavement  that 
he  refused  all  food. 

He  would  sit  for  hours  in  the  same  posi- 
tion, uttering  his  plaintive  little  call,  which 

168 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 

he  was  accustomed   to   use   in   summoning 
Sankey. 

Upon  the  seventh  day  of  Sankey's  ab- 
sence I  learned  from  a  neighbor  that  a 
strange  variety  of  squirrel  had  been  caught 
at  a  distant  farm  house. 

I  at  once  visited  the  place,  and  to  my 
inexpressible  delight  found  Sankey;  and  a 
very  woebegone  looking  little  monkey  he 
was,  too,  I  can  assure  you. 

Adequately  to  describe  the  meeting  be- 
tween my  pets  is  too  great  a  task  for  my 
pen;  suffice  it  to  say  that  Moody  gave  one 
little  cry  of  joy  and  folded  Sankey  in  his 
arms,  while  Sankey  hugged  Moody  and 
kissed  his  little  black  nose  in  the  exuber- 
ance of  his  glee. 

For  the  remainder  of  the  day  these  two 
little  comrades  continued  to  caress  and  fon- 
dle each  other,  uttering  sharp,  pathetic  cries 
of  joy  until  our  colored  cook,  who  witnessed 
the  meeting,  was  forced  to  shed  tears  to  see 
(as  she  said)  "two  creatures  love  each  other 
so." 

Sankey  was  the  athlete  of  the  two  and  al- 
ways comported  himself  in  a  dignified  man- 
ner, while  Moody  was  the  comical  clown 
and  was  constantly  wrinkling  his  little  face 
into  the  most  grotesque  expressions. 
169 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Sankey  could  leap  six  feet  on  a  level  or 
drop  a  distance  of  ten  feet  from  one  branch 
to  another,  while  Moody  would  hang  by  his 
toes  on  a  twig  or  turn  somersaults  along 
the  piazza  railing. 

At  times  Moody  would  catch  Sankey  by 
the  tail  and  swing  back  and  forth  with  great 
enjoyment,  but  he  usually  paid  for  his  fa- 
miliarity by  getting  his  ears  soundly  boxed. 
-  One  of  the  most  highly  valued  members 
of  our  household  was  a  gray  African  parrot 
named  Polly,  who  never  became  reconciled 
to  my  new  pets. 

Upon  their  arrival  she  hopped  across  the 
floor  and  inspected  them  curiously,  exclaim- 
ing "Great  Scott!"  and  "Go  'way!"  trying 
at  the  same  time  to  frighten  them  by  snap- 
ping her  beak. 

Contrary  to  my  expectations,  Sankey  and 
Moody  seemed  perfectly  able  to  protect 
themselves  from  Polly's  rather  vicious  at- 
tacks by  slapping  her  head  and  pulling  her 
tail,  this  effectively  subduing  her  malicious 
tendencies. 

They  would  steal  any  choice  tidbit  which 
might  be  given  her  and  dance  around  in 
great  glee  while  Polly  sat  helplessly  on 

170 


LITTLE    PHILOSOPHIES 


her  perch  and  uttered  the  direst  threat  she 
knew,  viz.:  "I'll  put  you  in  the  closet!" 

Moody  and  Sankey  disliked  to  take  a  bath 
and  whenever  they  were  bathed  Polly  was 
amply  revenged  for  all  her  persecutions. 

She  would  sit  back  on  her  perch  and  laugh 
immoderately  at  their  protesting  cries, 
shouting  "Oh,  my!"  "Hurrah  for  the  Demo- 
crats!" "I'll  throw  water  on  you!"  making 
at  the  same  time  a  noise  like  bubbling  wa- 
ter. Occasionally  I  would  put  Polly  in  the 
tub  after  bathing  the  monkeys  and  while 
I  was  sprinkling  her  she  seemed  to  glean 
much  satisfaction  by  using  the  most  pro- 
fane words  in  her  vocabulary,  while  Moody 
and  Sankey  sat  near  by  dressing  their  fur 
and  watching  the  operation  with  vast  en- 
joyment. 

Sankey  was  very  cleanly  and  washed  his 
face  and  stroked  his  whiskers  every  day, 
but  Moody  was  more  slovenly  and  neglect- 
ed his  toilet. 

Sankey  would  endure  this  as  long  as  pos- 
sible, then  he  would  capture  Moody,  forcibly 
dress  his  whiskers,  look  over  his  fur  and 
smooth  his  tail,  much  to  Moody's  disgust. 

Both  Moody  and  Sankey  were  very  fond 
of  a  mirror  and  would  stand  before  one  for 

171 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


hours,  looking  at  their  reflections. 

They  seemed  never  to  understand  the 
mysteries  of  the  glass  and  became  lonesome 
if  I  removed  it. 

I  am  glad  that  I  cannot  tell  my  readers 
how  these  little  monkeys  met  their  death, 
for  they  are  with  me  on  the  piazza  as  I  sit 
writing. 

Sankey  is  hunting  for  spiders  up  on  the 
water-spout  and  Moody  is  trying  with  all 
his  might  to  drag  forth  a  gumdrop  from  my 
vest  pocket. 

Pasadena,  Cal. 


172 


Reminder, 


In  the  garden  picking  cherries, 
Both  together; 

Azure  sky  and  balmy  breezes- 
April  weather. 


"Maiden  with  the  lips  of  red, 
May  I  beg  a  kiss?"  I  said; 

But  she  shook  her  curly  head: 
"Oh,  never!" 


"Were  I  a  robin  redbreast  bold, 

In  the  tree, 
I'd  beg  a  cherry  from  those  lips, 

Of  thee." 


But  she  answered  with  a  pout, 
"You  don't  know  what  you're  about- 
Robins  steal!" 


173 


BIDDY  M'CLANE  lived  all  alone  in  an 
old  tumble-down  house  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  little  village  of  Alva.  Her  hus- 
band, Michael,  had  been  killed  many  years 
before  while  working  as  a  section  hand,  and 
having  no  relatives  or  children  Biddy  had 
to  get  along  as  best  she  could. 

But  then  there  was  the  cow — such  a 
homely  cow — and  the  truck  patch  and  the 
hogs;  not  much,  to  be  sure,  but  enough  to 
delight  old  Biddy  and  solace  her  for  Mich- 
ael's loss. 

What  if  old  Brindle  was  ugly,  with  her 
bent  horns  and  amputated  tail;  and  the 
truck  patch  was  small,  and  the  hogs  only 
four  in  number !  So  long  as  Biddy  had  these 
to  comfort  her  she  was  happy.  Some  said 
Biddy  was  unneighborly,  others  that  she 
was  dirty  and  slovenly,  while  even  the 
small  boys  were  prone  to  tease  her  by 
throwing  stones  at  old  Brindle  and  the 
hogs. 

175 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Mrs.  McClane  took  great  pride  in  her 
hogs,  and  had  named  the  largest  and  fat- 
test one  "Phelim"  in  honor  of  her  brother 
in  the  "ould"  country.  The  other  three  were 
called  "Paddy,"  "Felix"  and  "Timothy,"  af- 
ter three  deceased  cousins. 

There  was  one  exception  among  the  boys 
who  threw  stones,  a  freckled-faced,  red- 
headed little  fellow  named  Teddy  Flana- 
gan. Mrs.  McClane  was  very  fond  of  Ted- 
dy, for  it  was  he  who  had  brought  old  Brin- 
dle's  tail  home  when  she  had  inadvertently 
switched  it  into  Mr.  Smith's  fodder  cutter. 
To  be  sure,  the  tail  was  not  worth  much 
after  it  had  been  cut  off,  but  it  showed  a 
thoughtful  disposition  in  Teddy,  and  Mrs. 
McClane  appreciated  it. 

Teddy  always  hunted  up  old  Brindle  and 
the  hogs  if  they  didn't  come  home  at  night, 
and  it  was  he  who  weeded  out  the  truck 
patch  and  hoed  the  cabbages.  Therefore, 
it  was  not  strange  to  see  Teddy  enter  Mrs. 
McClane's  lopsided  gate  one  morning  and 
betake  himself  around  the  house  to  where 
she  was  churning. 

"The  top  o'  th'  mornin'  to  ye,  Teddy,  me 
bye,"  said  Biddy,  stopping  the  churn.  "Have 
ye  seen  Phelim  this  mornin'?" 

176 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


"No,  mum,  but  I  seed  Paddy,  Felix  and 
Timothy  goin'  down  by  Mrs.  McGroggins' 
as  I  were  comin'  over." 

"It's  Phelim  that  niver  came  home  last 
noight  wid  th'  others,  and  it's  worryin'  Oi 
am  fur  fear  the  poor  pig  is  strayed  or  sto- 
len." And  Biddy's  face  grew  redder  with 
the  thought.  "Ye  must  be  off  to  onct,  Ted- 
dy, but  wait  till  Oi  get  ye  some  cookies  to 
lighten  yer  heart  on  th'  way."  And  Biddy 
waddled  into  the  house,  returning  with  a 
handful  of  cookies  which  Teddy  carried 
away  with  him  on  his  search  for  Phelim. 

First  of  all,  he  went  over  to  the  old  race- 
course where  there  was  a  muddy  pool  of 
water,  but  Phelim  was  not  there,  nor  could 
he  be  found  thereabouts.  Teddy  thought 
he  knew  all  Phelim's  haunts,  but  a  visit  to 
all  of  them  revealed  no  trace  of  the  missing 
hog.  Finally,  the  boy  sauntered  over  to 
the  track  and  took  the  road  leading  down 
the  big  grade  along  by  the  railroad.  He 
was  almost  ready  to  give  up  in  despair 
when  he  met  Farmer  Johnson  coming  up 
the  hill  with  a  load  of  corn. 

"Have  ye  seen  Phelim  this  mornin',  Mis- 
ter Johnson?"  cried  Teddy,  as  soon  as  he 
was  near  enough  to  be  heard  plainly. 

177 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


"Who's  Phelim,  my  boy?"  questioned  the 
farmer. 

"Why,  McClane's  pig,  to  be  sure,  an'  he 
got  lost  an'  Oi'm  huntin'  him." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  Phelim, 
but  there's  a  dead  hog  half  a  mile  down 
there  on  the  crossing;  run  over  by  the  ex- 
press, I  guess." 

Teddy's  heart  sank  and  his  eyes  filled  with 
tears,  as  Farmer  Johnson  slowly  moved  on 
up  the  hill. 

What  would  Mrs.  McClane  do  now  if 
Phelim  was  dead?  She  had  intended  to 
send  him  to  the  county  fair,  where  he  was 
sure  to  take  the  prize,  and  she  and  Teddy 
were  to  have  gone  and  seen  the  blue  ribbon 
tied  on  his  neck,  but  now  there  was  to  be 
no  fair,  no  ginger-bread,  pink  lemonade,  or 
horse  racing.  These  were  the  thoughts  that 
revolved  under  Teddy's  shock  of  red  hair 
as  he  walked  slowly  toward  the  crossing. 

Yes,  there  was  Phelim,  or  all  that  was 
left  of  him,  stretched  out  just  as  the  fast  ex- 
press had  left  him  the  evening  before.  After 
Teddy  had  cried  a  bit,  he  borrowed  a  neigh- 
bor's hand-cart  and  sorrowfully  wheeled  the 
mortal  remains  of  Phelim  home. 

Biddy  was  soon  apprised  of  Phelim's  un- 

178 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


timely  end,  and  the  cart  was  trundled 
around  into  the  back  yard,  where  many 
tears  were  shed  over  his  death.  Her  grief 
was  changed  to  wrath,  however,  when  she 
learned  that  it  was  the  fast  express  which 
had  caused  Phelim's  undoing. 

"Ochone,  poor  bye !  the  same  train  as 
kilt  poor  Mike!  Not  contint  wid  killin'  me 
husband,  to  take  the  bread  and  sup  out  o' 
me  mouth,  but  Oi'll  be  aven  wid  the  com- 
pany, Teddy,  me  son,  and  they'll  have  a 
hard  time  wid  Biddy  McClane,  if  she  is  a 
poor  lone  widdy." 

These  lamentations  and  denunciations 
were  interrupted  by  the  appearance  of  Mr. 
Burgison.  Mr.  Burgison  was  engaged  in 
the  melancholy  occupation  of  buying  de- 
ceased pigs,  which  he  used  for  purposes  of 
soap.  After  the  usual  greeting,  he  delicate- 
ly hinted  at  his  errand,  but  much  to  his  sur- 
prise was  met  with  a  blunt  refusal  to  sell. 

"It's  no  use,  Mr.  Burgison,  Oi've  me  own 
use  for  Phelim,  bad  luck  to  them  as  kilt 
him,  but  it's  meself  that'll  be  aven  wid  th' 
coomp'ny  or  me  name  is  not  Biddy  Mc- 
Clane. 

"The   company   will   do   what's   right   by 
179 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


you,"  insinuated  Mr.  Burgison;  "so  you 
might  as  well  let  me  have  him." 

"O'ho,  not  they !  not  they !  Not  a  cint  did 
Oi  get  for  the  killin'  of  poor  Mike,  and  'twill 
be  th'  same  wid  Phelim,  Oi'm  thinkinV 

That  evening  Mrs.  McClane  and  Teddy 
got  out  the  big  iron  kettle  which  was  used 
for  making  soft  soap,  and  in  a  short  time 
it  was  hanging  over  a  blazing  hot  fire  in  the 
back  yard.  Biddy's  revenge  had  fairly  be- 
gun. Till  late  into  the  night  did  these  two 
work, — Teddy  bringing  fresh  fuel,  and  Bid- 
dy stirring  the  sputtering  contents  of  the 
cauldron.  No  wonder  the  neighbors  thought 
that  "Old  Lady"  McClane  must  be  up  to 
her  uncanny  tricks  again. 

When  at  last  the  first  grey  streaks  of 
dawn  began  to  appear  in  the  east,  Teddy, 
under  Biddy's  directions,  carefully  loaded 
two  great  pails  of  simmering  lard  on  the 
hand-cart  and  pushed  off  down  toward  the 
crossing,  closely  followed  by  Biddy  carry- 
ing her  best  mop  on  her  shoulder  and  vow- 
ing vengeance  on  the  company. 

Engineer  John  Conley  of  the  fast  express 
was  a  little  late  that  morning  as  he  pulled 
into  the  village  of  Alva,  and  after  he  had  re- 
ceived the  signal,  and  was  running  well  out 

180 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


of  the  village  he  opened  the  engine  a  notch 
or  two,  "just  to  meet  the  grade  at  Dug- 
gan's,"  as  he  expressed  it. 

"I  never  did  like  this  stretch  of  road,"  he 
remarked  to  his  fireman,  as  he  glanced 
ahead;  "in  fact,  none  of  the  boys  do."  "Ye 
see,"  he  continued,  "after  ye've  climbed 
Duggan's  and  begin  to  run  down  on  the 
other  side,  nothin'  on  arth  would  stop  ye 
short  of  the  curve  at  Old  Sugar  Loaf,  and 
if  a  piece  of  rock  from  that  cliff  would  fall 
on  th'  track, — well,  jest  give  me  a  snap  o'  th' 
finger  fur  all  the  chances  I've  got  here." 

"Seems  to  me,"  said  the  fireman,  "them 
tracks  looks  mighty  shiney  ahead,"  and  as 
he  spoke  there  was  a  sudden  whirr  of  wheels 
and  the  huge  drivers  spun  helplessly  around. 
The  heavy  train  gradually  came  to  a  stop, 
nearly  at  the  top  of  the  grade,  and  passen- 
gers and  trainmen  began  to  look  out  to  see 
what  was  the  matter. 

"Well,  I'll  be  switched !"  cried  John  Con- 
ley,  as  he  leaped  from  the  cab.  "See  here, 
Jim,  if  the  tracks  ain't  greased  fur  half  a 
mile,  and  good  lard  oil  at  that,"  he  added,  as 
he  put  his  finger  on  the  rail. 

"Well!  if  I  had  the  feller  here  that  put 
on  that  stuff  I'd — "  He  stopped  as  his 

181 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


glance  rested  on  two  figures  coming  down 
the  grade.  One  was  a  fat  old  woman,  mov- 
ing along  at  a  surprisingly  rapid  rate;  the 
other  a  freckled-faced,  red-headed  little  boy 
closely  following  her. 

"Oi  greased  th'  tracks,"  panted  Biddy  as 
soon  as  she  had  fairly  reached  the  spot. 
"And  to  think  it  were  out  o'  spite  to  th' 
coompany!  Oi  greased  th'  tracks  an'  th' 
saints  be  praised!  Tell  'em,  Teddy,"  and 
Biddy  sank  down  out  of  breath  with  her  ex- 
ertions. 

"It  was  this  way,  sor,"  cried  Teddy  ex- 
citedly. "Me  an'  Mrs.  McClane  mopped  th' 
tracks  an'  hurried  up  over  th'  hill  an'  down 
the'  grade  so  as  not  to  get  caught,  an'  when 
we  got  to  Sugar  Loaf  there  was  a  big  pile  of 
rock  on  th'  track,  an' — "  He  said  no  more, 
for  trainmen  and  passengers  with  one  im- 
pulse started  for  the  spot. 

Half  an  hour  later,  when  they  returned 
and  the  story  was  known,  John  Conley  said 
as  he  thought  of  his  wife  and  babies :  "Thank 
God,  old  lady,  and  passengers,  all,  that  Bid- 
dy tried  to  get  even  with  the  company." 

One  evening,  a  week  later,  Mrs.  McClane 
was  attending  to  her  household  duties  and 
Teddy  was  sitting  on  the  gatepost,  eating 

182 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


cookies,  when  the  local  agent  of  the  rail- 
road walked  down  the  road  and  into  the 
house  where  he  presented  to  Mrs.  McClane 
and  Teddy  a  check  for  five  hundred  dollars. 
There  were  horse  racing,  prizes  and  pink 
lemonade  at  the  county  fair  that  year,  and 
among  the  crowds  which  surged  around 
the  Punch  and  Judy,  the  side  shows,  and 
the  performing  bear,  were  a  fat  old  woman 
and  a  red-headed  boy. 


183 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


PLOT  FOR  A  STORY  (A  Fragment) 
St.  Paul's  rocks,  the  summit  of  extinct 
volcanic  peak.  The  open  top  leading  to  in- 
ternal world  or  country  inhabited  by  curious 
beings  having  lights  in  their  foreheads,  etc. 
The  hero  is  wrecked  on  St.  Paul's  rocks  and 
happens  across  opening.  He  daringly  de- 
cends  and  discovers  odd  inhabitants.  He 
finds  the  heroine,  who  has  been  cast  away 
with  her  father  and  whom  they  hold  captive 
on  account  of  the  old  man's  medicinal  lore. 
N.  B.  Put  your  imagination  to  work. 


184 


I'm  a  hypochondriac, 

With  a  bad  pain  in  the  back, 

My  heart  and  liver  are  all  sluffed  away; 
With  rheumatics  I  am  doubled, 
By  lumbago  I  am  troubled, 

And  a  hundred  ether  tortures  of  decay. 

O,  dear,  what  horrid  feeling 

Is  that  now  through  me  stealing! 

What  with  fever  and  the  ague, 
What  with  shiver  and  with  shake, 
And  the  medicine  you  take, 

It  seems  as  if  the  devil  loves  to  plague  yoj. 

With  neuralgia  2nd  the  mumps, 
I  am  always  in  the  dumps; 

Hay  fever  keeps  rne  sneezing  day  and  n'ght. 
Mustard  plasters  by  the  score 
Have  kept  me  raw  and  sore, 

And   I've  had  to   take   the   Keeley  cure   ai 
Dwight. 

I  have  a  case  of  boils, 
And  I  rub  myself  with  oils, 

I  daily  take  my  hot  and  cold  ablutions; 
I  read  with  eager  zest 
All  the  cures  that  stand  the  test, 

And  ponder  long  on  chemical  solutions. 
I'll  have  to  stop,  I  fear, 
To  syringe  out  my  ear, 

And  it's  time  to  take  my  antibilious  pill; 
Then  cod  liver  oil  I'll  gulp, 
And  my  nerve-reviving  pulp — 

O,  it's  awful  when  you  feel  so  dreadful  ill. 
185 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


THE  HAYSEED 

I'm  just  a  simple  countryman,  with  only  average 

brains 

The  little  town  of  Podunk  is  my  station; 
I'm  deacon  in  the  Baptist  church,  and  drive  to 

meet  the  trains 
In  case  a  stranger  needs  accommodation. 

I  visited  this  town  last  week — the  first  time  and 

the  last — 

(You'll  never  catch  me  back  again,  I  swear) ; 
They  buncoed  me,  they  called  me  jay,  and  as  a 

final  blast 
They  told  me  I  had  hayseed  in  my  hair. 


186 


Just  as  Aurora  was  gilding  the  dawn 
I  arose  from  my  bed  with  a  start, 

For  the  presence  of  smoke 

Caused  me  almost  to  choke 
And  tingled  my  eyes  with  its  smart. 

The  hallway  was  filled  with  spirits  in  white, 
And  garments  were  flowing  and  few; 

While  infantile  squeaks, 

And  feminine  shrieks, 
Made  a  terrible  hullaballoo. 


Mrs.  Brooking  retained  her  presence  of  mind 
And  hurried  to  turn  on  the  faucet; 

Miss  Wagoner,  bless  her, 

Proceeded  to  dress  her, 
As  I  can  attest,  for  I  saw  it. 


Mrs.  Woolsey  sent  up  an  appeal  to  the  sky, 
Mrs.  Harmon  soon  glided  upstairs, 

Where  she  donned  a  new  gown, 

Threw  the  other  one  down, 
For  sundry  and  divers  repairs. 


In  pajamas  attired  Phillips  dashed  to  the  street- 
The  neighbors  all  thought  he  was  crazy — 

Mr.  Higgins  in  white 

Was  a  beautiful  sight — 
Sure  the  ladies  all  say  he's  a  daisy! 

187 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


Poor  Annie  was  wringing  her  hands  in  dismay, 
When  the  hosecart  arrived  on  the  spot, 

And  in  her  great  need 

Talked  wholly  in  Swede, 
Which  of  course  helped  the  firemen  a  lot! 

And  what  was  the  cause  of  this  fear-kindling  fire. 
Which  produced  such  confusion  and  fright? 

Why,  the  lightning's  quick  bolt, 

Gave  the  gas  pipe  a  jolt, 
Fused  the  iron,  loosed  the  gas  and  started  a  light. 


188 


APPENDIX 

It  seems  fitting  in  this  memorial  volume 
to  reprint  from  a  Chicago  newspaper  an 
account  of  the  efforts  made  to  reach  Dr. 
H.  W.  Thomas,  off  on  a  vacation,  to  return 
home  to  conduct  the  funeral  services  over 
the  body  of  his  young  friend,  Harry  Hig- 
gins,  who  died  in  Chicago,  August  16,  1897, 
at  the  comparatively  early  age  of  28.  Dr. 
Thomas  was  the  pastor  of  the  People's 
Church  in  Chicago,  and  an  intimate  friend 
of  the  Higgins  family,  especialy  fond  of 
Harry.  His  summer  home  was  at  Spring 
Green,  Wis.,  a  flag  station  about  25  miles 
from  Madison,  the  cottage  where  Dr. 
Thomas  was  staying  being  four  or  five  miles 
from  the  station  with  no  easy  means  of  com- 
munication. Reports  the  Chicago  Herald  of 
August  16: 

"Mr.  Higgins,  the  father  of  Harry,  first 
wired  him  yesterday  morning,  asking  him  to 
come  to  Chicago,  and  Dr.  Thomas  replied 
that  he  would  flag  an  express  which  passed 
Spring  Green  about  2  o'clock  yesterday  af- 
ternoon. 

"Soon  another  telegram  announced  that 
the  attempt  to  stop  the  express  had  been  a 

189 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


failure,  and  there  were  no  other  trains  sched- 
uled to  pass  through  Spring  Green  that 
would  bring  him  to  Chicago  in  time.  Af- 
ter much  difficulty  Mr.  Higgins  got  hold  of 
officials  of  the  Chicago,  Milwaukee  &  St. 
Paul  Railroad  and  arranged  to  have  them 
send  a  special  train  for  the  clergyman.  Be- 
fore this  was  done,  however,  it  was  found 
that  a  freight  train  could  be  run  through 
a  little  ahead  of  schedule  time  and  take  Dr. 
Thomas  to  Madison,  where  he  could  get  a 
train  for  Chicago  about  3  a.  m.  and  arrive  in 
Chicago  at  7  this  morning. 

"Meanwhile,  telegrams  had  been  passing 
between  Spring  Green  and  Mr.  Higgins,  and 
the  doctor  had  promised  to  get  to  Chicago 
if  it  were  within  the  range  of  possibility,  so 
when  the  final  telegram  was  sent  telling 
him  that  the  freight  would  pass  Spring 
Green  about  11  o'clock  last  night  there  was 
uncertainty  regarding  the  clergyman's 
whereabouts,  and  the  use  of  a  special  train, 
even  as  a  last  resort,  was  made  impossible. 

"  'I  am  confident  he  will  be  here,'  said  Mr. 
Higgins  last  night.  'He  has  been  an  inti- 
mate friend  of  my  family  for  eighteen  years, 
and  he  was  especially  fond  of  Harry.  I 
know  he  is  as  anxious  to  get  here  as  I  am 

190 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


to  have  him.  He  and  my  son  have  been  the 
best  of  friends,  despite  the  disparity  in  their 
ages — for  the  doctor  is  50  and  Harry  was 
barely  28 — every  since  Harry  was  quite  a 
little  fellow,  and  Harry  was  remarkably 
fond  of  him.  This  fact,  apart  from  the  re- 
gard we  all  have  for  Dr.  Thomas,  makes 
me  especially  anxious  to  have  him  conduct 
these  last  services.  I  am  so  worried  by  the 
non-receipt  of  an  answer  to  my  last  tele- 
gram that  if  it  would  do  any  good  I  would 
send  a  special  even  at  this  late  hour.  The 
doctor's  last  telegram  stated  that  he  had  fail- 
ed to  stop  the  express,  and  that  he  did  not 
see  how  he  could  get  here. 

"  'But  I  know  he  is  not  sitting  idly  re- 
gretting the  state  of  affairs  all  this  time  and 
I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he  has  either 
failed  to  get  the  telegram  containing  the 
information  about  the  freight  that  will  take 
him  to  Madison,  or  has  started  to  drive  the 
twenty-five  miles  there,  or  else  his  answer 
has  been  delayed.  The  telegraph  service 
has  been  wretched.  Of  course,  it  is  Sunday 
and  the  operator  is  not  expected  to  be  on 
duty  all  day.  But  in  spite  of  the  silence, 
which  I  confess  worries  me,  I  have  every 
confidence  in  the  strength  of  Dr.  Thomas' 

191 


LITTLE   PHILOSOPHIES 


attachment  for  my  poor  son  and  I  am  sure 
he  will  be  here  tomorrow  morning.  We 
could  not  bear  to  have  any  other  clergyman 
officiate,  and  Dr.  Thomas  knows  it.  He  has 
been  more  than  a  friend  to  all  of  us,  and  I 
am  sure  he  appreciates  how  much  we  all 
want  him  and  he  will  come  on  time,  I  am 
confident.' 

"Harry  Higgins  died  Saturday  morning 
and  the  funeral  is  set  for  this  morning  at 
10  o'clock  from  the  residence,  1733  Michi- 
gan avenue.  The  interment  will  be  in 
Graceland.  Mr.  Higgins  was  born  Sept  22, 
1869.  He  has  always  been  delicate  and  has 
traveled  and  sought  in  every  way  to  main- 
tain his  health,  which  has  long  been  failing. 
His  mind  was  unusually  active,  and  he  pos- 
sessed great  natural  ability  in  mechanical 
engineering,  being  a  draughtsman  of  skill. 
If  he  had  been  endowed  with  health  his 
friends  believe  he  would  have  become  fam- 
ous in  a  pursuit  in  which,  following  it  only 
for  pleasure,  he  showed  marvellous  profi- 
ciency." 

[It  is  gratifying  to  state  that  Dr.  Thomas 
arrived  in  time  to  conduct  the  services. — 
S.  T.  C.] 

192 


